Unfurl
by Emma15
Summary: Beer 'verse Story: Tensions ride high and the links that bind begin to unfurl. A Thanksgiving Story. [Rating Due to Language]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Supernatural" nor sadly the boys.

**Author's Note**: So it's time to start posting some of my more of my Beer 'verse stuff. :P I have a couple stories in the works; this one is will be set throughout the month of November.

Thank you SO much to all have reviewed my stories in this AU. Your reviews are like chocolate and coffee all at once. :D

And thank you much, muchly to **Lembas7** who favors me with her beta'ing skills:) Any remaining errors are all mine.

* * *

The sun was already peeling the skin off of his nose.

He should put sunblock on or wear a hat. Something. He didn't want to move, though, didn't want to go anywhere, especially to a place with fluorescent lighting and aisles full of crap that cost more than his entire wardrobe. Granted that didn't mean much, but still, if Wal-Mart was Satan, and it _was, _then pharmacies in general were its hell-spawned minions. He didn't need sunblock, even if he did. He was good sitting right here, ass glued, maybe welded, to the metal bleacher, eyes tracking the progress of the baseball game.

There were only a few people watching. It was too hot to sit out here and bake. The players were covered in sweat, coaches kept funneling water into all of them and Dean could see the Referee was seriously considering calling the game. Damned if he knew the name of either team or, hell, the town.

Dean knew one thing – Dad was missing; doesn't-answer-won't-return-calls, not-one-contact-has-heard-from-him, no-visible-hunts, dropped-off-the-face-earth missing. He'd found coordinates in the journal, and that had slowed the panic.

He'd told Sam, when Sam had called. Sam had called a lot in the days after his wedding . . . more than usual. At least twice a day, until finally Dean had confessed what was going on. Predictably, Sam had been angry, said that this was just Dad being _Dad _and that had pissed the hell out of Dean, because when the hell had John Winchester ever, _ever, _shirked responsibility? Sam had laughed, a condescending, know-it-all laugh that made Dean want to smash something.

_"Right, yeah, 'cause his kids sure as hell were never _his _responsibility, right?"_

_"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"_

_"It means exactly what it sounds like! Dad disappeared on us all the time when we were kids, Dean! And for you to get all pissy and freak the fuck out because he doesn't return calls NOW makes no sense! He's _never _returned calls!"_

_"Dad never--"_

_"Yes. Dean. He did. He left us on our own and _never _picked up the phone--"_

_"Only when he was on a hunt and he always left us someone to contact if--"_

_"Stop defending him!"_

_"Then stop talking like he didn't care about us! He did! He does! And when we were kids, he did the best he could with us, with what he had to do! The life we had to -"_

_"We didn't have -"_

_"Yeah, we did. People need help, Sam. Those people at Black Ridge woulda died if we hadn't been there. And Dad knows that. He did the best he could. He always kept us safe. He tried, Sam. I don't know, maybe you were too little, you don't remember but he -"_

_"I remember, Dean. I remember _you." _  
_  
The conversation had ended abruptly, had left scratches – thoughts and memories that neither really wanted to contemplate.

Dean didn't want talk about it and he made that clear to Sam.

_"You remember what you _want _to remember, you remember through the eyes of little kid. You have no _idea _what Dad went through, no idea how impossible it all was. And maybe you don't care that something's wrong, maybe you think he's earned it or that he's been looking for it all this time, but _I _care. He's my family, Sam, and I'm going to find him."_

He needed to _do _something, to find Dad – something was wrong. Dad wouldn't do this for no reason, he wouldn't leave him – wouldn't leave like this – even Sam had had a reason.

_"Where? Where are you going to find him?! Huh?! You said yourself that you had no idea where he could have gone! You just gonna drive around the country till you see'm?!"_

He'd told Sam about the coordinates. Sam had wanted to come with him, had insisted, pleaded even – and Dean had listened, in silence, baffled by the way his little brother's mind worked. One minute, he wanted to leave their old man out to the wolves and the next he was begging to come along?

_"What if something's wrong? You have to wait for me, Dean. I want to come. Please – just wait for me. I can be there in two hours, maybe one and a half if I break a speed limit or two. Then we'll go up to Colorado together. Please. What if . . . if something's wrong? You can't go up there alone."_

And he hadn't, of course. Sammy had met him and they'd gone together. They'd saved people, they hadn't found Dad though.

Dean had dropped Sam off home and headed to the Southeast. They had a contact near Death Valley.

But no one had heard from him or of him in almost a month... and now, today.

Today.

Someone hit a home-run and a few people cheered. Everyone was busy pretending that the game wouldn't be called, that these strikes and runs meant something.

"Anyone you know out there?"

Dean blinked, eyes staring straight ahead at the diamond shaped field. "No," he answered flatly, refusing to wonder why Sam had just slid onto the bench next to him.

"You sounded off on the phone."

"You plannin' to fly somewhere every time I sound _off _on the phone?" Sarcasm colored the words.

"Drove."

"How'd you know where?"

"GPS on your phone."

"Fuckin' stalker."

"Didn't come alone."

He did turn to look at Sam then. His little brother needed a freakin' hair cut and wasn't even sweating yet; must've just parked the car. He didn't ask, didn't say one word. Maybe if it weren't so fuckin' hot he'd ask, but really... today, he just didn't care.

"Everybody came along," Sam continued. "Road trip. My friends are _fascinated _by road trips," he said dryly and Dean almost smirked.

"They think it's an awesome way to spend a weekend, that's it's fun and adventurous; makes them feel like they're really living..."

Dean turned back to the game. There was some kind of huddle going on, the two coaches and the referee. The players looked about ready to drop and the few people in the stands were starting to gather their things.

Fuckin' wusses.

"I'm pretty sure we decided you'd be at the house today."

One of the coaches was looking pissed. He was motioning towards the dugout, his team was watching closely.

"It's a really nice day, we could have gone to the beach. It's been awhile since you met up with the guys. It's why they came. Jake says he forgetting what you looked like – that was great. Then the girls all described you . . . yeah, it was awesome."

Sam sounded as flat and empty as Dean felt.

The referee was shaking his head, a determined look on his face.

"We drove two cars to get here. I lied, told them you were expecting us. So don't," a pause and Dean knew Sam was trying to find something neutral to say, "Be upset with them."

The decision was made and the referee moved to the middle of the field.

"I left them at the Bed & Breakfast, where we're staying. The girls picked it-- and Mike, Mike liked it. I saw the motel though and figured that's where you were-- since there's only one. So I went to there and that's where I found out where you were. The clerk saw you head towards the park. It's nice town, small, but nice. It's really hot out here."

Sam's gift for the obvious-- and the babbling.

The game was over.

"Can we go somewhere? I want to talk to you."

There was a lot Dean could have said to that. That they'd done enough talking, that there was nothing to talk about, that they'd already said enough... that today just wasn't the kind of day they _talked _about anything; that today was the kind of day you bought of bottle of Jack and closed the blinds in the motel room.

All he said was, "No."

And then there was silence. Sam was regrouping, so this would be a spectacular time to un-weld himself from the bleachers.

He stood up and Sam matched his movements. Hell, his little brother matched his steps as soon as they left the stands. He ignored it, him. They made it all the way to the motel without one word being said. Sam would follow him right into the room too, Dean knew that.

"Go home," he ordered, stopping in the parking lot.

Dean knew Sam was facing him, knew he was being studied.

"I'm sorry that you aren't with him today."

It was hard to snap at Sam when he spoke like that, when he was trying so hard to understand, to help.

He shifted to look at his brother and found exactly what he'd known would be there, wide eyes brimming with understanding and sympathy. If there was one thing Sam Winchester knew, it was to be understanding on November 2nd. Even in the midst of 'becoming his own person', at the height of his 'betrayal', Sam had always understood on that day. Sometimes, in the earlier years, he'd understand for the entire week.

Dean wanted to wipe that understanding from his brother's face. Wished he could be that ruthless, the way Dad could. Today Dad could destroy them all and not regret it for a moment – today Sam understood that. It had a been free pass, early November, a time when Dad could be as uncommunicative as he wanted, could move them to wherever he pleased, could disappear for days and hear no recriminations.

Dean had felt almost guilty in the later years, for wanting so hard for November to come.

"It's not the first time," he answered.

They were standing on the hot asphalt, the sun high in the sky beating down on them. Sam was sweating now too, Dean noted, wished his brother would get back in the car and drive away.

"I know it's been a hard time lately."

Dean didn't move, didn't even blink. Idly he wondered how long Sam could go if he didn't say anything, how many things his little brother could speculate over and apologize for and try to explain.

"Black Ridge was . . . hard. I know that. I thought he would be there too."

"He wasn't. End of story."

He really wasn't in the mood to find the answer to his musing; he figured it was probably a lot.

Sam nodded, "Okay. So can we... you're mad. I know I said things..."

Dean started walking, away from the motel. The last thing he wanted was to be confined in a small space with Sam right now. Sam matched his steps again. They made it all the way back to the park, past the bleachers, past the baseball field, past a couple basket-ball courts and tennis courts, past the children's play equipment, they were entering a small grassy area with benches when Dean stopped.

"What makes you think it's a good idea to do this today?" he asked, making sure to meet Sam's eyes because he really did want to know.

Sam blinked at him and then smiled, small and deprecating, but real. "Were you expecting logic behind this?"

And this was why he always, always ended up giving in, because Sam never failed to sucker punch him; to deliver the last thing Dean was thinking of. He looked away, refusing the thread of humor Sam was holding out to him. He couldn't do it, not today.

"I'm tired of this _thing _between us. I know that I said things that you didn't..." he trailed off, probably realizing that that wasn't a neutral statement. Without looking Dean knew Sam's brows were furrowed, his eyes distant, searching for the right words. "I know that we don't always agree, but we're brothers, and I... don't like it when there's a – a _thing._"

Dean turned his head then. "I can agree with that."

Sam tilted his head, "But you're still mad at me?"

He caught himself before rolling his eyes. "No, Sam. I'm not mad you," he answered, forcing himself to stay calm.

"You're in a bad mood and I know it's because of what I -"

"No, Sam. It's not," he interrupted, speaking slowly, irritation mixing with disbelief and something darker that was pulsing strong inside him. "Today is the anniversary of Mom's horrific death, Dad is MIA, and I didn't toast the fuckin' ghost hauntin' this place in time to stop another poor bastard from taking a nosedive into a ravine. So as shocking as this is, my mood has nothing to do with you."

Sam's lips puckered and his eyes dropped. Dean got that slightly nauseous feeling he'd always felt as a kid when he'd made Sammy cry.

"I didn't know you were hunting..." Sam offered after a beat, eyes lifting.

"I wasn't," Dean's chuckle was bitter and he saw Sam wince a little, "Bastard found _me." _

_"_You okay?"

"Don't I look it?"

"Stop acting like a jackass."

"Stop showing up every time I sound _off _on the phone. It's fuckin' annoying – like a Sasquatchian fairy godmother."

"Asshole," Sammy snarled the word, eyes narrowed. It gave Dean immense satisfaction to not find one thread of understanding in the tight features glaring at him.

"Go back to your friends and tell them that you just missed me. I'm not in the mood to play nice." He turned away and when Sam grabbed his arm, he reacted more violently than he'd meant to.

Sam staggered backwards from the defensive move and scowled darkly. "What the hell?" he growled.

Dean glared back, but said nothing. He should apologize, he hadn't meant to do that... he said nothing.

"Fine. I'll go." The words were clipped and hard.

"Good." Dean matched his brothers' tone.

"I wanted to do something nice for you." Sam grit out, just as Dean was going to turn away, the words held him in place. "It's not your fault some poor bastard took a nosedive off some rocks, Dean. It's not your responsibility to save everyone. You _can't_ save everybody."

It was true. The kind of true that burned and set every atom alight inside you with repugnance. Dean felt himself lashing out even before he recognized his intent.

"That's your answer to everything about the Hunt, isn't it Sam?!" he hissed, walking forward, getting too close. "Why even try when you can't save everyone, you can't fix everything, you can't be everywhere – why even bother, right?! Why sacrifice my time and effort for something that isn't going get me a shiny piece of paper and a pin at the end of the day?!"

Sam's eyes flashed and he took a step back, but Dean kept going.

"Why look for Dad when he's the one that left, right? Why even fuckin' try? It's not worth it, right? If he's in trouble, if something's wrong, what the hell does it matter?! _We can't save everyone!_"

"He _is _the one that left!" Sam yelled back, standing his ground now, eyes flashing. "I'm not going to apologize for saying it! He _chose _it! People make their own decisions about -"

"Then let me make mine!" Dean cut in. "Stop fighting me about every little thing!"

"I don't--"

"You do! You can never accept--"

"You endanger your life for no reason! I can't just stand back and watch that!"

Dean knew if he didn't get away_ right _now this was going to end badly.

His mouth had other ideas, "It's a reason for me! I_ choose _to do it, Sam! It's my _choice _and I want you to fuck off about it!"

He turned away then,_ getaway-getaway-getaway_, drumming through him as strongly as the fury he could feel flowing in his veins.

When a hand clasped around his arm, his reaction was purely instinct, drilled in during exhaustion-filled hours of training and midnight recon missions. When you were grabbed like _that, _you reacted like _this. _

The problem was, Sam's reaction was purely instinct too – drilled in despite petulant pouting and heated arguments. When someone reacted like _that, _you countered like _this. _

In a manner of seconds both brothers were staggering away from each other, Sam with a hand to his jaw, Dean with one to his cheek. Any other time, any other _day _one of them, if not both, would have broken the tension with a joke, a smile. Today, right _now_, they glared at each, eyes dark with rage.

"Is that what you want, _Sammy_?" Dean drawled, the nickname patronizing. "You want to beat some sense into me? S'that it?"

He knew that wasn't it. He knew that if anything, Sam wanted to _talk _and _hug _and hell, cry on each others shoulders. Sam didn't want to fight. Sam hadn't tracked him down for that.

Sam had wanted to be with him today, because Dean couldn't be with Dad. Sam was trying to do something nice for him.

And suddenly, Dean wanted nothing more than a fight.

Sam glowered, "Don't be a moron." His little brother spit out, but he looked anxious, like maybe he saw want Dean wanted; and the satisfaction he got from that was dark and made him feel nauseous again.

He dropped his arms to his side and started circling Sam, steps slow and careful. Sam watched him with wary eyes, but Dean saw the way his arms dropped too, the way he leaned back into a fighting stance.

Dean moved lightly, just testing, arms shooting out in quick, simple attacks, before falling back again. Sam blocked them easily, rounded to face where Dean had fallen back.

"This is stupid, Dean." Sam hissed, but his eyes were watching Dean. His movements mirroring his brothers', it might be stupid, but Sam wasn't going to be caught unprepared.

"'Fraid you're gonna end up on your ass, Samantha?"

Sam didn't reply, but he set his jaw and that was all the encouragement Dean needed. He moved again, faster this time, not moving back, forcing Sam to move too. Sam blocked and when Dean left him an opening, he took it; jabbing his older brother with a quick shot to solar plexus.

Dean fell back, arms and stance in a defensive position. "Aw, Dad would be so proud," he observed.

"Shut-up," Sam snapped. "This is stupid. I hate this... I _always _hated this."

"Not true," Dean replied, moving in again. "When you were seven you _begged _to spar with me."

Sam moved this time, drawing away from the area they'd unwittingly claimed; moving away from familiar territory. Dean almost smirked, instead he landed a solid blow to Sam's ribcage, grabbed his right arm when Sam bent forward, twisted it a little, and flung him back in the direction they'd started.

Sam staggered and Dean held back until he'd reclaimed his balance, then moved in again. His blows were blocked with the effectiveness he'd instilled in a little Sammy a million summers ago. Two boys in an abandoned garage, flinging each other around until one gave.

Sam was flushed, sweat trickling down his face and Dean felt the same on his face. They were in the shade now, but it was still ridiculously hot.

They backed away from each other, not exactly breathing hard, but not actually breathing easy either.

"Stop this," Sam ordered, glaring. "It's stupid and it's not going to solve anything."

"Speak for yourself, I'm starting to feel_ solved _already," he countered.

"You're a jackass."

"You give?"

"No."

The response was instantaneous and a moment later Sam moved in on the offensive. All thoughts vanished as Dean concentrated on parrying his brother's blows. They did end up moving, Sam's long legs made that a necessity and when he started to fall back, Dean moved in. He managed to land two blows, before Sam landed his first.

They fell back gasping this time, sweat in their eyes, and knuckles starting to get raw. Sparring session would usually end about now.

"Give?" Dean asked again.

"No."

They weren't talking about the match. Dean wasn't sure_ what _they were talking about anymore – Dad, Mom, the fire, hunting, normal, life in general...

It wasn't the match, though.

Sam had reach; even if he was rusty, with those arms he could be in a different state and still deck Dean. But Dean had learned how to compensate for that a long time ago. And he _wasn't _rusty.

Sam was trying to land a blow, when Dean finally sensed them. Watching, murmuring – he cut his eyes to them for a second and felt Sam's knuckles land on his cheekbone.

The momentary distraction was enough for Sam to take the lead and for several moments Dean forgot the world existed – and then, for one instant, he forgot who he was fighting.

He took Sam to the ground, hard.

He heard the air whoosh out of his little brother as he landed on top of him, one hand on Sam's throat, his knee in Sam's stomach. He heard the gasp of fear and surprise from their little audience. Their audience who could have been standing there the whole time for all Dean knew. They'd been on the other side; the one Sam had led them too.

Sam was looking up at him with those dark green eyes, jaw clenched, one hand gripping the wrist of the hand Dean had at his neck.

"Give," Dean demanded.

He should have known better, should have remembered. The freakishly long reach didn't end with Sam's arms. He felt himself being flipped by those legs and in the next instant, he was slammed hard into the ground, Sam landing on top of him.

"No."

This wasn't two boys on a sun dappled evening roughhousing; this was two men fighting for control of something neither one could identify.

There was yelling in the background now. Dean caught snatches of it.

_"... cut it out..."_

_"... what the hell..."_

_"... not fooling around..."_

_"... get hurt..."_

There were two ways to get out of this.

He had to find Dad.

He moved fast, viciously. Sam flew off of him, landing on his back, hand flying up to his face to staunch the blood. Dean sat up quickly. He met Sam's gaze; surprise and hurt, not just physical, bloomed there and Dean felt like upchucking right there on the grassy knoll.

He scrambled to his feet, and then everyone descended on them.

"What the fuck, Dean!? Sam are you okay?"

"What the hell was that?!"

"Are you crazy?!"

"Holy shit man, that was serious!"

"Don't tell me that is what the two of you do for fun?"

"_Was _that for fun?"

"Sam? Are you okay? Let me see? Here hold this here..."

Jess was kneeling next to Sam, Lacey standing just beside her. Kerrie was glaring at him. The guys kept looking back and forth between the two of them.

"Where the hell did you _learn _that? I mean, seriously! Where did that come from?" Mike was frowning; they were all frowning, all worried and upset.

He met Sam's gaze again. The surprise and hurt were gone, replaced by something else-- by understanding and wasn't that just fuckin' fantastic.

He shifted his gaze to Jess. She was glaring at him, furious-- no understanding there. She'd tear him a new one if he stuck around long enough. Too bad he wouldn't be.

"It's not broken," he offered her, because it wasn't. He wouldn't do that.

And then moved away, it was time to leave.

"Dean!" she called.

"Hey man, wait!"

"Dean!"

The calls stopped abruptly and he knew that Sam had said something, made them stop.

He got all the way back to the motel room before he threw up; heaved into the porcelain god for a good five minutes, vomiting until there nothing left in him.

He leaned back against the tub, closing his eyes, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

It was okay. This was normal, expected even, it had nothing to do with it being... today, nothing to do Dad being _gone _or that poor, bastard thinking he was going swimming instead of plunging to his messy death; it had nothing to do with Sam _still _not really seeing their Dad, nothing to do with his little brother's blood staining his hands.

It was just heat stroke.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Supernatural" nor the Winchester boys.

**Author's Notes**: Thank you so much for the reviews guys! I'm thrilled you're enjoying it. This chapter came along a little long because well, it was time for a little more Jess; just a little though-- it's always all about the boys. ;)

As always, massive thanks to **Lembas7 **for beta'ing and then re-beta'ing this chapter for me! Any remaining errors are all mine.

* * *

"Sam?" 

"Let him go," he repeated, the words muffled by the end of his t-shirt that Jess had shoved in his face.

"Are you okay? Are you dizzy? Do we need to go to a hospital?"

He almost laughed, had to clamp his jaw tight to not smile. A hospital? Jeez. Dean had barely touched him.

"No," he said softly.

"What the hell _was _that?" Doug asked, for what seemed like the tenth time. "Why were you - I mean, dude..." he trailed off.

Sam looked up at them then, they were standing around him in a semi-circle. Trying to hide just exactly how freaked out they were – which was a lot.

"Does it hurt?" Kerrie asked, softly.

"Of _course _it does," Lacey answered for him. "He's bleeding."

It did hurt. In a place that wasn't at all physical. He should have left the first time Dean told him to; it would have saved them both this pain.

"You guys were fighting. Like _fighting_,_" _Mike declared, waving his arms around. "Actual fighting -"

"With _fists_,_" _Jake inserted.

That almost made him laugh too.

"Sam, say something." Jess's quiet request broke through his haze. He lowered the t-shirt and started wiping his hands on it; tentatively touching his nose – not broken.

"It's okay," he told her, meeting her eyes. She didn't believe him for one second.

"Sam, Dean just decked you," she responded skeptically.

A breathy laugh escaped him this time, because if Dean _had_ decked him, he might actually have needed a hospital.

They stared at him incredulously, Jess leaned back to look at him askance, eyes wide in a too pale face.

"Maybe he has a concussion," Kerrie offered.

"He's clearly insane." Lacey continued, "They _both _are."

"That was – I mean that was, that was vicious," Mike said seriously.

"And I thought you two and sports were bad!" Jake added, voice high.

"Yeah, seriously!" Doug continued for him, "I'm never playing anything against you guys."

It hadn't been play. He didn't know what they'd just seen had been – it hadn't been real, not really, but still, it had been something more than play.

"Sam!" Jess's voice was sharp now and he jumped, startled.

"Sorry... I'm fine, it's fine," he said. "Just... stuff. Sometimes things get... it's fine. Nothing to worry about," he stammered, doing nothing whatsoever to reassure them.

She blinked at him. "Nothing to worry about?" The words were doubtful and he honestly couldn't blame her.

"What was that?" Doug asked again, "I mean... it was like some kind of martial arts or something..."

"And why -"

Sam started standing up. He didn't want to sit here and answer questions. He didn't want to sit here with _them_.

Especially when he could feel so much anger bubbling inside of him; anger at Dean for being so _stubborn_ and himself for not remembering to understand and their Dad for fucking taking off right _now_ and at _them_, his friends, for just being here, for _seeing _that.

A piece of his life that didn't fit, that he didn't want to explain.

Jess stood too, Lacey took a few steps back, her eyes still studying him.

"You okay?" Jess asked him when he finished standing.

"I'm fine," he answered automatically, avoiding her gaze.

Kerrie snorted, "The blood on your hands and all over your shirt says different."

"We should get out of here," he said, ignoring Kerrie, turning back in the direction he and Dean had come from – the one Dean had stormed off in.

His stomach hurt at the thought of Dean leaving like this, with things like this between them. He should have known better, he _did _know better. Tears stung his eyes as he started walking, on November 2nd it wasn't fair. He _knew _that things, emotions, were volatile with Dean and their Dad.

He should have left when Dean had told him to.

"Shouldn't we find Dean or something?" Doug asked in general.

Sam stopped moving and turned back around. No one had moved. They were looking at each other now.

Jake shook his head. "He looked pretty pissed..."

"Yeah man, no way am I going _near _him when he -"

"Let's go," Sam cut in, his voice a bit harder. They all jumped a little, frowning.

"We're just gonna leave?" Mike asked, "Don't you want to talk to Dea -"

"What I want is to go." Sam snapped, before he could stop himself.

"Whoa. Chill there! S'not our fault you and Dean had a spat."

"Yeah, do we at least get to know what it was about?"

"There's never been actual bloodshed before..."

Sam's vision was starting to haze over red, a sure sign that his temper was very near snapping. Every word they said was setting off a burst of anger through him.

They didn't know, he tried to remind himself. They had no idea how _deep _things ran, no idea that Dean never snapped like that, never took it out on Sammy...

They were being themselves. Of the bunch only Lacey, and occasionally Mike, had a discreet bone in their bodies. His friends were a loud, rowdy group; they weren't subtle, they said what they thought and asked what they wanted to know-- it's why he liked them. They were without pretense.

"There was blood that time we played soccer in the summer..." Jake continued, thoughtful. "Maybe there's always blood."

"_Is_ there always blood?"

"Naw, we've played football a coupla times and no blood -"

"Yea, true."

Sam said nothing, jaw clenched, hands fisted, he grappled with the right words; words that wouldn't sever the friendships he'd spent over four years cultivating.

"There shouldn't be, if there is. It isn't safe." Lacey added reprovingly.

"What part of that looked safe to you?" Kerrie asked, then set her gaze on him, "What was that about?"

"Yeah man, you and Dean never -"

They didn't _know _him and Dean.

"It isn't any of your business," he practically snarled, "Drop it. And. Let's. Go."

They blinked at him, it took them all a moment to realize he wasn't kidding; smiles melted away and bright eyes faded a moment later, though. He watched as the mood visibly darkened and wished the sky would be as accommodating.

He turned away again and this time felt as they moved in behind him.

They'd made it to the park exit before he turned to look behind him-- not everyone had followed him out.

"Where'd she go?" he asked them all.

"Oh. Is _that _our business?" Kerrie snarled back, eyes angry.

"Kerrie -"

"Shut up, Sam. I don't like you much right now."

"Head back the way we came," Doug offered calmly, a hand on Kerrie's arm.

Sam ducked his head, the anger draining and guilt taking its place. "Thanks... look man, I just..."

"We should go." Lacey interrupted, "It's what Sam wants." She added, shooting him a scathing look.

He swallowed hard, not meeting her gaze.

Instead, he turned away and headed back into the park.

Jess was walking slowly towards the exit. A look on her face that Sam knew didn't bode well for him. It wasn't angry at all.

"We need to go. Everyone's heading back to the motel," he said, as soon as they were standing face to face; trying to head off any conversation.

He wasn't in the mood to get into it with Jess. He didn't have enough control left over for that.

Jess said nothing, just met his gaze. A moment later she arched her eyebrows at him and just like that, he was instinctively on the defensive. He wasn't steady enough to argue with her, to explain himself.

He'd say things, _wrong _things, he knew it – knew that if she demanded something of him right now neither one would escape unscathed.

"I want to know what's going on," she stated, her voice was calm and even.

Sam swallowed hard. There was something bubbling just underneath the surface of his thin control, an emotion he hadn't paused to identify yet; something he didn't want Jess to see.

"Jess -"

"Dean disappears from our wedding, that little weekend camping trip – that turned into half a week, now this. I want to know what's going on."

He drew in a deep breath, "Nothing important -"

"Looked important," she interrupted, blue eyes telling him not to lie to her.

"Well -"

"Or is it none of my business either?"

He clenched his jaw, the urge to tell her just that rising to his lips.

A silent moment passed and he spoke. "Sometimes Dean and I get upset with each other," he stated, pushing the words out through his clenched teeth.

"Sure. I always body slam Jilly when I get upset at her. Of course."

"I don't need to -"

"You _do_,_" _she cut him off, eyes narrowed. "I'm your _wife_."

Yes, she was and he loved her; but this was about _Dad _and fire and the hunt...

He said nothing.

"Sam -"

"You don't have to worry about it," he repeated, hoping that if he said it enough he could make her believe it.

"But I do!" she yelled, the calm cracking as she took a step forward. A breeze ruffled her hair - a tiny relief in this dry heat. It was too beautiful a day for . . . today.

"I _do _worry," she continued. "How can I _not _after seeing something like this?" Her hand waved towards the area around them. Sam followed its movement for a moment, before bringing his gaze back up to hers.

She was worried.

It struck him, how similar this conversation was to his and Dean's. Only he was on the other end now.

Both sides sucked.

"It wasn't a big deal," he tried, "It's just... the way we are... it's--" he cut himself off, "Let's just go... it's hot and... there's nothing," he stammered, "Let's just go."

"No." She said instantly, "I'm not moving until you tell me what's going on."

He scowled and opened his mouth, but she cut him off before he even began. "I've tried waiting and being patient and understanding with you. I've tried not pushing and letting you come to me. I've tried being discreet and being quiet about it - and you _know _that is not me, but I've tried. I really have, because you are the most PRIVATE person I have ever met and I love you, so I respect that. And God -"

Jess stopped, looking around with a disbelieving expression on her face and Sam wondered if she could hear the frantic beating of his heart, because suddenly he couldn't breathe. But instead she just released a soft, sad laugh, "That was your appeal at first, did you know that? All my friends, my family - we're just . . . so out there with everything. Everything is just _there_ with us. But with you - you were a mystery, something I could discover piece by piece and that - I thought that - it drew me to you. But GODDAMIT Sam! I'm TIRED of the mystery!"

She was yelling, near tears. Sam felt the prickling of his own behind his eyes, a burning sensation he tried to ignore; he wasn't steady enough for this. Not today.

"Jess..."

"Just _tell _me, Sam! Why is that so HARD? Why can't you trust -"

"I do! I swear Jess, it's not like that! It's not that I don't trust you -"

"Than what? You don't think I can't handle it?"

"No, that's not it!"

"Are you sure?! Because it's one or the other, Sam! Either you don't trust me or you don't think that I can handle -"

"Dammit, Jess! I don't want you to HAVE to handle it!" He roared, stepping forward. "Why the hell can't you just let it go!?"

"Because that's not how this marriage is going to work! I'm not going to be one of those wives that turns a blind eye to everything and is miserable and alone and ends up committing suicide in a motel room!"

"Jesus," he breathed, that image raising goosebumps along his arms.

"Whatever is going on, whatever you have to HANDLE then let me help you! That's what a MARRIAGE is about! And we ARE married!"

"Yeah, okay -"

"No, NOT okay, because you don't behave like it! You won't let me help you--"

"You CAN'T help! There's nothing--"

"You don't know that! You can't! Not if you won't even let me try! Let me try -"

He felt the hold slip, felt the world tip - he wasn't steady enough for this. He took two steps forward bringing him a breath away from her face as that _something _he couldn't identify boiled over. It was dark and nasty and wanted to shred her _trying _to pieces.

"Fine. You want to help. Okay then: twenty-three-years ago today our mother was killed," he growled at her, splattering that truth all over her good intentions, "At our house - in my _room, _my _nursery. _And Dean was _there, _he was _four _and he was right _there_ – so go ahead, Jess. _Help_,_"_ he sneered, venom tainting each word.

The anger had vanished from her face. She was looking at him with wide eyes.

"What? Nothing to say? Come on, Jess! Try! Help!" he taunted.

She shook her head, her gaze dropping.

"Say something!" he roared.

Her gaze lifted. "No, you said," the words were whispered and trailed off shakily.

Sam took a step to the side, clenching his hands to keep from reaching out for her. _Stopthis, stopthis, stopthis, _a voice warned, but he couldn't, not now. It was spilling out; splashing all over the place - there was nothing to hold onto.

"I said what?" he asked, all control gone. "What!?"

"You said it-- it was a fire," she choked out; he could see tears gathered in her eyes. He was making her cry.

"Well what the hell's a murder if you don't light the place on fire afterwards, right?" he snapped, a sick gratification rising up in him when she flinched. "Are you happy now?" He hissed, "Now you can _handle _it with us. That's what you wanted right? 'Cause you know there's plenty of shit to handle - like the killer who got away, and our Dad on some fuckin' endless _quest _to - to _avenge _her or something; and Dean backing him a fuckin' full hundred percent on that - like it isn't completely USELESS, like it hasn't been DECADES, like it hasn't been my entire LIFE! And me! Me not caring - not knowing - me not -"

Sam stopped; words weren't enough for what had just bubbled to the surface. Jess was looking at him with a stricken expression on her face. Horrified. He'd put that horror there.

"Dammit," he choked out, turning away from her. "Dammit."

He just needed to get away; he needed to get away _right now_. He didn't say anything more, didn't look back, just walked away.

He walked fast, through the walkway, past the trees and benches, sunlight glimmering around him like diamonds through the haze of his tears.

He walked until he reached the chain-link fence signifying the end of the park and then he stared at it, at the road across from it; letting the tears fall.

... not remembering her.

He sat down, hid his face in his hands. Sam didn't remember Mom. Dad and Dean would give their lives for her memory and he didn't remember at all. It wasn't his fault, he knew that. He'd been too young; there was no way he _could _remember. But that didn't mean much on the November 2nd's of his life.

It didn't mean much when he watched them grieve and hurt over something he couldn't _know, _not really. He could understand, though. He tried to understand the moods, the anger . . .

And sometimes when their grief, their pain was so raw he could feel its echo wash over him, he would wish with every cell inside him that he could remember her, could _feel _just one impression of her. He longed for it with everything he was, to _know _her, so he could feel what they felt, so he could _know. _

So he could help.

Jess wanted to help

His tears were trailing off, his breathing was slowing down, he could feel himself losing the edge of hysteria that had swept over him while standing in front of her, faced with that desire to help, to try.

He lifted his head a little, took a deep breath. The sun was lower in the sky, casting the shadows of trees all around him. Still bright though, still hot; a gentle breeze slid across his face as if defying that assessment.

The day was beautiful .

It washed over him then, the realization that there was someone sitting a few inches away from him. He turned his head to look at her. She was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, her head laid on top of them, facing him; eyes wet and watching him.

He'd been cruel.

He made noise in the back of his throat, wiping at his face roughly as he grasped what he'd said to her. Fresh tears slipped from his eyes and he rubbed at his eyes harder. At least there had been nothing supernatural in what he'd said.

It didn't matter.

For the first time he realized how gruesome, how appalling their story really was. Even in the light of day, without the supernatural involved, it was horrific, and he never should have dumped it on Jess.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice caught, hoarse after so many tears and silent, pent-up sobs.

She lifted her head, kept her gaze steady on his. "I'm sorry more," she whispered back.

Jess was moving then, sitting right next to him, her body touching his, leaning into him. Blonde hair rested on his shoulder, her arm intertwining with his, hand finding his and linking with it.

Sam turned his head into her hair, felt her turn into him, felt her sigh; he sighed back. He inhaled her scent, felt her warmth and felt the venom, the darkness trickling away.

"We should move," he murmured after several long moments, her hair muffling his words.

It surprised him a moment later when she didn't.

"Jess?" he asked, suddenly worried. Was she angry at him?

Still no response.

"You didn't fall asleep did you?" Sam prodded, forcing a light tone into a voice, nudging her with his shoulder.

"No," she whispered and her voice was oddly hoarse.

It took him a moment to realize why and when he did, he leaned his head back against the fence. "You're still crying," he stated, letting his eyes slide shut against the vision of branches overhead.

She was silent again.

"I'm sorry," he repeated after a beat. "I didn't mean to yell like that . . ." Sam took a deep breath and shifted towards her, opening his eyes. "I just . . . I don't know," he sighed. He'd _really _yelled at her. "I'm so sorry."

She pulled back then, blue eyes wide. "Jeez, Sam," Jess whispered.

Her eyes were red, lashes clumped together and he realized that she'd been crying the whole time.

"_I'm _sorry," she corrected. "So sorry . . ." the words were soft and trailed off almost brokenly.

He frowned. He didn't think Jess had ever apologized for being stubborn.

"For your Mom," she added quietly, still watching him.

_Oh. _

"Oh."

She wasn't over that yet.

It was the benefit of being raised Winchester; compartmentalization was an art form they'd perfected. Sure, sometimes there might be the occasional emotional hemorrhage/psychotic break, but overall John Winchester had trained his sons to gather everything that hurt and dump it in a steel-reinforced lock-box.

He always forgot that not everyone did that.

She swallowed hard, "Sam -"

"I don't -" he interrupted, his throat closing up suddenly at the thought of having to pry that lock-box open. "I don't talk about that, Jess," he finished tightly.

She just looked at him. He swallowed, automatically inching away from her; but her grip tightened suddenly and she nodded, "Okay."

Sam blinked. "Okay?"

Jess nodded, moving her head back to his shoulder. "Okay," she said again and Sam made himself not hear the '_for now' _ringing in the air.

"It's not something -"

"Shhhh," she cut him off, burying her face against him. "Okay, it's okay."

He felt the vibration of the murmur, her warm breath as she said the words; and the unspoken _for now _still loomed hazily in the future, but Jess was quiet and understanding, huddled up against him and he closed his eyes against it.

They sat like that for longer than Sam kept track of; eventually the sun began to set and he dimly recognized that November 2nd would be over soon. It didn't bring the measure of relief it usually did. Dean was upset, upset and on his own-- because Dad had left him. Sam's throat tightened at the thought, he couldn't let this day end like this.

"We should move," he said again, opening his eyes, inflecting his voice with a touch of humor for her sake. He prayed Jess was over it, that she'd go along with him even if she wasn't, that she'd let him pretend nothing he had happened because right now-- he could offer he nothing more. He'd confessed all he could. He needed to pretend nothing had happened.

Sam needed to pretend nothing had happened.

"I think my butt's asleep," Jess snorted after a moment's silence.

Sam released a surprised laugh.

She lifted her head, offering him a small smile. "No, really." There wasn't as much light in her gaze as usual, but she was trying and that was what he needed right now.

They pulled each other up off the ground, dusting off and maybe fondling a little. Jess giggled and Sam let himself grin.

"We should get back to the motel," she told him, reaching for his hand.

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess. Make sure they have left without us, which considering, they might have."

"They didn't," she comforted tugging him along. "They wouldn't."

Sam shrugged, "Couldn't blame them, I was -"

"It's okay," she repeated and this time there was no qualification with the words. And looking at her in the setting sun, the warmth in her eyes, the feel of her hand in his, Sam believed her. It was okay.

"You're the back-roads expert anyway," she teased lightly, "Better than any GPS." Her smile wasn't quite as big as usual and there was too much cheer in the tone, but he appreciated it more than he'd ever be able to say. He needed her to pretend with him, to let this go, because right now, he couldn't deal with anything more-- right now he was focused on not letting the day end like this.

"Better believe it, baby," he replied, leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead, hoping she understood it as the _thank you _it was.

He had to find Dean, he couldn't let this day like this.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Supernatural."

**Author's Note**: Thank you all so much for the reviews and PM's! I appreciate them so much. I had to re-organize my thoughts about this story, so updates faded. : \

It's all settled now though; this chapter is a bit... quieter, than the last two, but I hope you still enjoy it. Chapter four won't be long behind it. :)

Hugs thanks to **Lembas7** who takes the time to go over these chapters for me. Thank you, hun! Any remaining errors are all my fault. ; )

* * *

Sam didn't give much away when he was nervous. In fact, he gave away nothing. He didn't twitch or fiddle or hum. When he was nervous Sam was perfectly still, composed. 

He was nervous now.

They'd walked back to the motel talking about how cute this area was, how the weather had gotten cooler, how this was the kind of place kids could play in the street - basically, nothing. Which was fine by her, her heart was still pounding and tears sprang to her eyes every time she thought of what she'd learned today.

She wasn't stupid; she was making a career out of reading people, interpreting them. It hadn't taken her a long time after meeting Sam to know that there was something in his past he kept locked away, maybe several somethings. He had walls, and they popped up abruptly. Dean's walls you saw at a distance, a part of himself you could feel him holding back, even as he let you in. Sam let you in, with his smiles and his jokes and his hugs and steadiness - and then inexplicably you just slammed up against a brick wall.

She'd known that Sam would snap - if they were close, nothing unbalanced younger siblings more than being at odds with their older counterpart. And she'd come to understand at some point, that saying Sam and Dean were _close_ was somewhat of an understatement.

She'd seen the way his eyes had flashed at her, the warning there; and she hadn't cared. In that moment she'd _wanted _him to snap, she'd made the choice to _make _him; to see how far she could push, to see what was underneath - it had been reckless and malicious and she wished she hadn't done it. She wished he'd told her on a quiet evening while they were cuddling on the sofa watching crappy, sappy TV.

But that's not how it had happened and she would live with that regret.

"Hey, it's fine," she comforted, squeezing his hand, because it would be. She would make sure of that.

Jess knocked on the room door. It was Kerrie and Doug's room, but she'd wager the others were in there too. Doug opened the door, smiled at her, moved to let her in. Sam moved in behind her and to his credit Doug didn't even flinch; just opened the door wider.

"So what'er we doin'?" She asked as soon as the door as closed behind them.

They were sitting around the room. Lacey and Kerri on the bed, Doug and Mike leaning against the far wall and Jake propped back against the desk. No one looked particularly at ease and in fact they looked vaguely guilty. The silence was heavy and thick, doing nothing to hide that she and Sam had just interrupted a conversation. She looked around and no one met her gaze.

Next to her, she felt Sam hold still and that was not acceptable. She felt anger start to build. They couldn't behave like this, not to Sam, not today . . .

Then Sam's voice filled the room; she jumped a little, intent on glaring her friends into the ground, but wasn't really surprised, he was never one to beat around the bush.

"I shouldn't have yelled at y'all. I lost my temper when I shouldn't've," he said quietly, stopping just short of apologizing.

The room was silent.

Jess met Kerrie's gaze and scowled, opening her mouth, but Sam continued before she could get a word in. "It's been a bad day, I guess." He ran a hand through his hair, gaze dropping. "And I uh - I need to get some air, okay," he said, glancing at her for a moment before looking out again, "I'll be back later." The words were said to the room in general. She shifted to look up at him and he bent and placed a kiss on her cheek, his hand resting on her back for a moment before he began moving away.

She knew where he was going, probably the others did too. Hopefully there wouldn't be anymore bloodshed, but kept her mouth shut on the subject.

"Try not to leave without me, huh," he said wryly as he reached the door.

Jess answered instantly, "We won't."

"Of course not," Kerrie added a beat later. Sam glanced at her, giving her a small smile before slipping out of the room.

Jess hardly waited for him to close the door before she narrowed her eyes at the group and flipped into pissed off mode, "What the hell?" she hissed to them all.

They all startled.

"Jess -"

"Don't get mad -"

"Listen -"

She didn't want to listen, she hadn't even begun yet. "You get to behave like assholes and act all bitchy whenever the desire randomly strikes you; Sam does it _once_ and we give him the silent treatment? Is that how it works? Because that's -"

"We did a bad thing," Mike gasped out, interrupting her, pushing himself off the wall.

"Oh, Christ!"

"Dammit, Mike!"

"She didn't even look at you!"

"Can't you keep your damn mouth shut!"

The exclamations coming from around the room had Jess's mouth snapping shut. She zeroed in on Mike. "What bad thing did you do?" she asked him calmly, a hand on her hip.

"We didn't, actually," Lacey chirped. "We were making an effort to behave as good friends. Which we are, correct?"

"What did you do?" Jess kept her gaze on Mike.

"We really were trying to help."

"I _knew_it was a bad idea, but does anyone _listen _to me _ever? _No," Jake pouted.

"We went to see Dean," Mike blurted out, ducking his eyes from Jess.

Her mind balked at those words. "You _what?"_she asked, already knowing she hadn't misheard.

"It was Doug's idea," Jake added quickly.

"You all agreed!"

"We just wanted to see if he was okay!"

"Find out what happened!"

"Get'm to talk to Sam!"

"We were trying to help!"

The defenses came from all of them and the fact that they were being offered told her how badly this had ended.

"It never occurred to any of you that perhaps it was something Dean needed to work out with Sam and Sam alone?" she asked archly, hand dropping as she moved closer to the bed; fastening accusing eyes on the girls. They should have reeled this mad plan in.

"If that display in the park said anything at all it was that they couldn't work _anything _out," Lacey defended, but there was a slight tinge of pink in her cheeks.

"It didn't occur to you that it was an INVASION of PRIVACY to barrel into an issue you know NOTHING about?"

"That's why we went! To -"

"To WHAT?! To interfere in a family matter that you have NO frame of reference for?!"

"To try and help," Kerri offered.

Jess nailed her with a frozen look, working to keep a handle on her temper, "Tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened. He was -"

"- pissed."

"Because we were there," Mike clarified.

"That would go without saying," she responded.

"- wanted us to leave."

"- told us to leave."

"- said it wasn't our business."

The explanations stopped abruptly and Jess felt her temper fraying, "Okay! And?! What happened?"

"Nothing."

"He left," Mike breathed, falling back against the wall as if emotionally spent.

"We tried to stop him," Jake continued.

"_I_tried to stop him," Kerrie corrected, shooting everyone a dark look.

"But he just, he was acting so weird -"

"Quiet, but just weird -"

"And we were kinda, I mean, it was just -"

"He was a little scary. He wanted to leave and you know, it's not like we could_stop _him."

"It happened so fast. He just, left."

_He left._

He'd left - so when Sam went to find him, he'd be gone. Jess felt tears prick behind her eyes, the anger abruptly vanishing. She turned away from her friends, moved to the far side of the room and stood next to the window. The sky was pink and orange, stars beginning to twinkle to life - and Sam wasn't going to find Dean tonight.

"Jess?" Kerrie's voice was soft, hesitant, and a moment later Jess felt her standing at her side.

"We're sorry," Doug stated, sincerity ringing in his tone.

"We didn't mean to make things worse - to upset Dean . . ."

"We really were trying to help," Lacey finished.

Jess nodded, eyes still on the rust colored sky. "I know," she whispered, "I know."

She turned around, drawing in a deep breath. "You just– we, we're lucky people, you know? We haven't- we've had problems and stuff, but really, all of us . . . we're lucky." She struggled to put her thoughts into words, to explain without_ telling _why Dean and Sam could have days like this and needed to be left alone about it. "My family couldn't be nicer or closer if we were scripted, and you too Ker - and you Jake. And I mean, you guys -" A soft laugh escaped as she motioned towards Lacey and Doug. "You guys have divorced parents that get along better than most _married_ people and you -" she paused, meeting Mike's gaze, "You have the best relationship with your Dad and your family dotes on you and all of us, we're just so _lucky . . ." _The word got stuck in her throat as it closed up tight, remembering the words Sam had hurled at her.

Murdered. In his nursery. Dean, four years old and _there._Fire.

"They're not so lucky," she whispered, dropping her gaze, not wanting them to see in her eyes what she wasn't saying. She took another breath and blinked back the tears, before lifting her gaze. "So next time? Just stay out of it, okay? Let them handle it themselves. It looks bad, but it's just their way and we can't help. They have to do it on their own, okay?"

The room was quiet, then Lacey nodded, "Yes, okay."

Mike released a long breath. "There's gonna be a next time?" he asked, nervously.

"Don't have to tell me twice," Jake offered. "He scared the crap out of me – the way he slammed that door - just, I don't . . . he was acting weird."

"He left tread marks in the parking lot!"

"And the way they were fighting in the park, the way they moved," Doug began, "It wasn't normal, it -" he trailed off when Jess set her gaze on him; no longer sad or quiet, the blue glare was fierce and meant to remind him of the laughing girl who'd nonchalantly told him if he broke her best friend's heart she'd take a staple gun to his privates.

"You've never seen martial arts before, Doug?"

"Yeah, of course, but -"

"Well, there you go," Jess cut in, tone hard and final.

"I'm starving, let's get some food," Kerrie proposed a heartbeat later, moving to stand next to Doug, grabbing his arm and looking up him. "Didn't you say you wanted to try that little diner we passed before?" she encouraged pointedly.

Jake started for the door. "Oh yeah! The one with the little fake doves on the roof!"

"I'm hungry too," Lacey agreed, standing from the bed.

"Should we wait for Sam?"

"Call him, maybe -"

"No," Jess cut in. "Sam isn't going to want dinner now," she said softly, eyes going to the window instinctively. "We can meet him later."

"You sure? I don't want'm to think that we're -"

She nodded, "I'm sure."

"Sounds good then -"

"Let's go. I wonder if they'll have pie."

"Is there a diner that doesn't have pie? In the world? At all?"

"You never know, it could happen."

Lacey rolled her eyes, "You're a moron."

Their voices were a little too loud and cheery, their conversation a bit too lighthearted to be real, but Jess appreciated the effort. She needed them to pretend, to let this go, because she wasn't ready to take a deeper look. She didn't want to think about the way he and Dean had moved in the park, the looks on their faces; about the snags she was spotting in the stories Sam spun for her.

When she stepped outside into the still muggy evening, she looked up at the starlit sky and sent up a prayer for Sam and for Dean; for them to find peace on this day. She knew it was all she could do.

* * *

Checked-out. 

Nearly two hours ago.

Sam was sitting on the curb outside the motel; ass on the hard concrete, knees nearly to his nose, hands at his sides, feeling as dejected as he'd felt at seven when Dean had wanted to play baseball with other people.

In all the scenarios he'd run through his mind on his way here, not finding Dean hadn't even been on the list.

Dean didn't do this, he didn't leave things unfinished like this - not with Sam. He didn't punch his little brother, make him bleed, and then disappear. Dean wasn't like that; Dad was like that.

It was disorienting to have it end like this, wrong like this; as if enough things hadn't gone wrong on November 2nd. As if there weren't enough reasons to resent this day. Sam stared at his hands, twilight casting shadows around him; the day couldn't end like this.

The cell phone felt heavier than usual in his hands, smoother somehow. He could make it worse by calling. It seemed lately like each conversation they had made things worse. It was a doomed attempt and he wasn't even sure of what it was he was going to do. Whatever it was, it was doomed.

Dean picked up the fourth ring.

"You okay?" Were the first words out of his mouth. They came over the line gruffly and Sam knew his brother felt like shit.

"I'm fine - you hit like a girl."

The words didn't even get him a chuckle.

Sam drew in a deep breath, "You left town."

"Yeah."

"You didn't say goodbye."

"G'bye."

"Dean -"

"What d'ya want, Sam?"

His nails dug into his cheek as he pressed the cell phone hard against his face, "I just want to - fix this," he gritted out, willing Dean to accept the words.

The silence stretched, shadows darkened and Sam was about to check and see if Dean had hung up on him, when his brother's voice slithered across the line.

"Consider it fixed."

"Doesn't sound fixed."

"Pay attention, then. It is. I'll even let you clobber me in the face next time I'm in town."

"Gee, thanks."

"We're good."

It wasn't true. Dean was pretending.

Today Sam didn't have the heart to call him on it; right now he didn't have the energy to dig deeper, didn't have the courage to face what he might find.

He laughed, forced and brittle.

"Okay," the word was quiet, echoing the sentiment Jess had offered him.

A beat, then, "I'll call you later."

Sam nodded, closing his eyes; that meant-- _stop calling me._

"Be careful," he whispered, instead of trying harder.

"Yeah," another pause. "Whatever," he inflicted the word with a pale imitation of its usual teasing quality - and Sam knew he was about to hang up.

"Don't stay away."

The words slipped free in a rushed tone; self-conscious and true. It was a fear he really couldn't quiet, no matter how many times Dean showed up at his door. The idea that Dean could just stop coming one day; that they could argue, disagree so badly that Dean would stop visiting. He knew it probably wouldn't happen, Dean wouldn't do that . . .

The dial tone in his ear didn't help ease the fear though. Sam swallowed hard and pulled the phone away from his face.

He placed it back in his pocket and put his face back in his hands.

Things were fixed. Dean had said so. They were fixed - on the outside at least.

* * *

Dean pressed end and tossed the phone into the backseat, fully intending to ignore its existence - for a couple hours. Maybe not even that, Dad could call. Someone could call about Dad. 

His grip tightened around the wheel, remnants of anger still so fresh he could taste them roiling around in him. They'd _followed _him. He still couldn't _believe _that. Sam's friends had followed him. They'd knocked on his door and barged into his room and sucked out all the air and sanity.

He gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles white keeping his eyes on the road. Just thinking about that encounter made his eye start twitching. They'd confronted and accused and scolded and cared to the point where he'd been ready to smash something.

He'd come close to doing something unforgivable.

_"Dude. It's rank in here."_

_"Jake!"_

_"What? Seriously!"_

_"It's messy as well. I hope you don't plan to leave it like -"_

_"If he wants to leave it a mess, than he can, Lace! Jeez. It's what maids get paid to clean up, isn't it?"_

_"Hmm, isn't that my usual stand on things; which you tend to get all stuck up about?"_

It had taken him a few too many minutes to process that they were standing at the door. By the time he had they were already in his room. Walking around and looking around, sitting on his bed and expecting a response from him.

They'd looked surprised when he demanded to know what they were doing there; frowned at him as if it should be obvious.

_"Wanted to make sure you were okay, man."_

_"You just took off..."_

_"After you _punched _Sam."_

_"Yeah, you wanna share what the deal there was?"_

_"Doug!"_

_"What? Like you don't wanna know?"_

_"We wanted to see to see if you were okay."_

_"You shouldn't have hit him like that. Nothing ever gets resolved with violence."_

Lacey's suggestion had made him want to do nothing _but _violence right then. The room had been hot, almost muggy, he hadn't bothered with the air conditioner, and dark; with the windows closed and the shades drawn. All the people in it hadn't helped; volatile emotions crawled over his skin. They couldn't tell though, for all their intelligence and social skills they didn't see the predator emerging in their midst.

_"Get out." _

He'd spat the words, no padding - blunt and angry.

_"Let us help."_

_"We mediate all the time."_

_"Usually between Ker and Doug -"_

_"Shut-up. The two of us haven't had a fight in . . . almost a month!"_

_"Sometimes its Jess and Ker; oh! And a couple times Jill and Jess and that one time Mike wouldn't talk to me 'cause I borrowed his car and scratched it -"_

_"Stole! And crashed!_ _A mint condition 1962 -"_

_"The point is we'd be happy to clear the air between you guys."_

_"Yeah, man. That was some fight."_

_"Seriously."_

His second, _get out,_ had been quieter, most of his concentration used on restraining himself from not physically shoving them out of the room. They didn't get it though, were too used to saying things like that to each other and not meaning it, too used to being involved in everything that had to do with one another. And seriously, when the _hell _had he become _one another_? When had they decided it was okay to storm into his room and dig out thoughts and motivations?

He was squinting hard at the road and realized it might help if he turned the headlights on. He had no idea where he was going. A couple states away, find a job while he put out more feelers for Dad. He'd put out a lot of goddamn feelers already though. A lot of effort into finding the man, when he _knew_that if John Winchester didn't want to be found, no one would find him. Why the hell his Dad didn't want to be found was something else altogether.

He hadn't yelled at them. Maybe it would have been better if he had.

They'd poked and prodded and should really count themselves lucky all he'd done was scare the crap out of them. And he didn't care if he'd scared the crap out of them, didn't care if they'd probably eye him warily now, that they'd likely think twice before going out alone with him, before playing against him, before following him anywhere to make sure he was okay.

It was for the best anyway. Somewhere along the line they'd apparently gotten the idea that they were his friends too. It was a mistaken idea. They were Sam's friends. It was important to remember that.

He'd started packing his things while Mike expanded on the idea that violence didn't solve anything.

_"All that fight did was make the two of you even more pissed."_

_"What're ya doin'?"_

_"Dean?"_

_"Would you talk to us, man!"_

_"NO," _he'd snarled, whirling around from where he'd been stuffing things into his duffel._"And if you're not going to get out, then I am. I've got nothing left to do here anyway."_

They'd stopped talking then, stopped moving. Finally seeing the tension on his face, the darkness in his eyes, the rigid way he was holding himself - ready to pounce. They'd sort of backed away then. It'd made him furious, had stung a little.

_"Wait. You should talk to Sam." _

Kerrie always was the one who wouldn't stay quiet.

_"You should mind your own damn business."_

He'd reached the door in two strides, slammed it behind him and practically thrown the key at the clerk in the motel office. He'd been peeling rubber off the tires before they'd even come out of the room.

Sam had apparently not heard about that yet. He would though, he'd hear about it - and resent Dean's attitude towards his friends. Jess would be angry about it - she was angry anyway.

He swallowed hard and flipped the cassette player on, turned up as high as it would go - needed to drown out everything but the road and music. Sam didn't want him to stay away, he'd just said so, but truth was, Dean was pretty sure he was wearing out his welcome in Palo Alto, California.

* * *

"At least now I know what it is." 

Sam looked up from his text book. Jess was standing at the door to his study. "What?" He wasn't in the mood for a cryptic Jess. His head hurt and he had an exam tomorrow.

And Dean had only called once in almost three weeks.

"I didn't know before, I mean how could I? I didn't know Dean."

He startled a little, leaning back from the book. "Huh?" The frown was a bit more fierce than it should have been, but he couldn't help it.

She walked into the room, coming to stand in front of his desk. "This," she waved her hand towards him, encompassing the entire desk with him, "Is Sam suffering from Dean-less-ness."

Sam scowled, "Wha -"

She cut him off, "And some where out there in the setting sun there is a Dean suffering from Sam-less-ness."

"Jess -"

"And right here, in this room, there is a Jess, a beautiful one - who got a haircut yesterday that you've yet to notice, who is thinking you both suffer from chronic dumbass-ness."

He just blinked at her. The conversation had taken a turn he wasn't following.

"It's Thanksgiving Day week," she continued. Her tone shifted and she said the words as if the two topics simply fed into each other.

He swallowed, his scowl fading back into a frown, "Yeah."

"My parents are coming over."

He couldn't stop the grimace. "Right." That was sure to be fun.

She paused a moment, then. "Invite Dean."

He flinched at the words.

Jess moved closer to the desk, leaned her leg against it. "Jill's coming with her new guy; and I'm pretty sure Kerrie's coming this year. And you know Jake tends to show up randomly too."

Again she said it like it all just fit together. He was obviously missing something here - or she'd been having this conversation in her head for a couple days.

"Yeah, okay . . .?" Sam prodded.

"There'll be people here he actually knows," she explained; after a moment she added quietly, "My parents want to meet him."

"They did, at the wedding."

"They want to talk to him, get to know him. He's family, Sam."

He arched an eyebrow at her, now was not the time; things were only fixed on the outside. Couldn't Jess see that? Didn't she find it odd that Dean hadn't called the house phone to recite lyrics to her? That he hadn't swung by even for just a day? "In case the blood didn't tip you off, Dean and I aren't really getting along right now."

The words were glib and meant to remind her of that day.

There was a shift in her stance, in her eyes - she remembered, but her gaze didn't waver.

She'd been having this conversation in her head for days then.

"So you don't want him to spend Thanksgiving Day with us?"

"What!? No! I didn't say that." He swallowed hard, "I'd never say that."

Jess nodded, "So invite him."

He shook his head, "I can't." It wasn't that simple.

"I'll do it."

"He won't come."

And Jess smiled at him then. Bright and reassuring and Sam felt as though he'd just wandered into a land-mine.

She didn't say another word. Just turned around and left his study, softly closing the door behind her. Sam stared at the closed door for a long time after she left, not for the first time thinking that maybe he should really make an effort to remember what it was his wife did for a living.

He was pretty sure talking to him just now had been a formality to some great plot she was cooking up.

He sighed, rubbing at his temples and refocusing on the book. The chances of Jess actually getting a call-back, because these days Dean hardly ever picked up his phone, were slim. So there was no use worrying about that. And he flatly refused to think about hosting Thanksgiving for Jess's parents. No way. He had an exam to pass.

And Thanksgiving was days away, thankfully.

* * *

Next chapter soon. Promise:D

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Supernatural" or the boys. If I did, there would be more hugging.

**Author's Note**: Thank you all so much for the reviews. I'm thrilled to know the story is being enjoyed. Next chapter will be upwards of Friday, but before Monday! Depends how insane Thanksgiving gets. ; P

Massive thanks to **Lembas7** who ever so sweetly points out when I've dropped complete plot points! Thank you, hun! Any remaining errors are all mine.

I wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving! May you spend it just where and with who you want to be. : )

* * *

Once upon a time, he'd been in a car with Sam - it was the _first _time he'd been in a car with Sam in four years - and Jess had called his brother. He remembered how the vibrating sound had filled the silence of the car, until he'd finally asked if Sam's phone didn't have voicemail. 

She hangs up before it goes to voicemail and redials, Sam'd said. And Dean had thought that was funny, thought it was kind of cute and that it said she was a pretty cool girl.

It was not cute or funny or cool.

It was goddamned annoying.

He'd just gotten out of the shower when it had started. His phone echoed in the small room, making a grinding noise on the little end table he'd left it on. He'd checked the caller ID as he tousled his hair dry, thankful there were no cuts or bruises to be careful with this time. It had been a basic salt and burn that had gone remarkably smooth.

He'd let it continue vibrating when he saw _Sam's House _flashing on the screen. It would be Jess in that case; she was the only one who called from the land line. The phone had vibrated for a full twelve minutes, before he'd switched it to no ringer and hid it under a pillow.

It should stop bothering him now. It really should. Except that he was pacing the floor in front of the bed of this tiny motel room because he _knew _she was still calling; that underneath that pillow the screen was flashing because she was still calling. He _knew _it. He could turn it off, could leave the room- forget about it. Except what if something was wrong? What if they needed him for something? What if Sam -

He couldn't stop the growl as he stalked over the bed and yanked the cell phone out. He dropped onto the bed hard as he pressed the phone to his ear, bare legs rubbing against the scratchy comforter.

"What?"

The line was quiet for a moment, then Jess's voice came through, cheerful and bright, "I win!"

He scowled even though she couldn't see him.

"You held out pretty long, though. So kudos."

He gritted his teeth. "What are you talking about?"

Her giggle was light. "Uh-huh. I'm sure you just noticed I was calling. 'Cause you wouldn't ever ignore me for fourteen minutes, right?"

"Jess."

She laughed now, "Okay, okay. I just wanted to make sure you knew to be here at as early as possible on Thursday."

He shifted on the bed, the setting sun sending streams of light in through the blinds and landing in his eyes. "What?"

"Yeah, I'd rather you get here really early so I don't have to stress about whether or not you're going to make it. Since I have enough to stress about, ya know?"

He blinked, Jess had a tendency to start conversation in her head and not fill in the people outside of her head, "Seriously. What are you talking about it?" he asked.

She released a put-upon sigh, "_Thanksgiving_, Dean. I'd like if you came early instead of joining Kerrie and Jake, and probably Doug this year, as last minute additions. And **don't** tell me they're not last minute additions if I know they're coming! I get enough of that from Sam! They're last minute because they don't show up until the last minute! And plus you could be absolutely anywhere and I'll be thinking that all day if you wait till the last minute to show up. Because, let's face it, after what happened with the wedding I just can never again be sure that you'll be on time. Ever. So for my peace of mind can you please get here early on Thanksgiving?"

Thanksgiving.

He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. Thanksgiving wasn't something he did, not anymore. When they'd been little kids Dad had sometimes tried on that day, but the efforts had tapered off by the time Dean was nine. After that Dean tried to scrape something together for Sammy whenever they weren't on the road. It was usually chicken, not turkey - hell, one year it had been macaroni and cheese that he'd tried to shape into a turkey. When Sam had started demanding more, he'd quit trying to pull it off altogether. When Sam had been gone, he'd barely noticed when the day came around - tried to barely notice, anyway.

"Dean? You still there?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Jess, I don't think - I'm not -"

"You're not what?"

A clattering noise followed the question and then he heard her hiss,_ow, dammit. _

"What happened? You okay?" He tensed.

"Yeah, ow! It's just a little hot. The cookie sheet slipped. I'm making turkey shaped cookies we can have with coffee after dinner - and after the pie. Oh! And I was going to make an apple pie for you, is that good? Or do you want another kind? Sam wants peach and Jilly likes blueberry, but my Mom is bringing that one and pumpkin, Mom makes the best pumpkin. So is that good?"

He swallowed hard, "I'm actually - not sure that I -"

"You don't want apple? Okay. I'll make you anything you want, Dean."

He closed his eyes, blocking out the floral wallpaper of the room, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "It's not a good time."

She didn't touch his excuse instead barreled forward. "Anything you want; you just have to come."

The shift in tone, in meaning, was smooth - worthy of her new Winchester name.

He ducked his head a little. Had Sam told her to call? Or worse, did Sam not even know? He should just say no. He should just say no; wasn't exactly sure why he didn't - except that he'd never had Jess's apple pie and it was probably really good.

Except that he couldn't remember that last Thanksgiving he'd even tried pulling together, that he'd stopped because Dad and Sam just didn't_get it_. No time for it, according to Dad, no point to it. Not good enough, according to Sam, not normal enough.

"Did you ask Sam?" The question slipped out, betraying so much more than he was willing to think about.

"Did I ask-? Wha- I'm sorry, what?" She sounded genuinely confused by his question.

He drew in a deep breath, "Does Sam know that-"

"You're asking me if Sam knows that I don't want you to show up last minute for dinner? Is that it?" She cut in, the confusion gone; her voice quietly lined with steel. "Of course he knows. Sam wants you to come early too."

He sighed. "Jess, you know that Sam and I aren't really talki-"

"Thanksgiving, Dean. A day to give thanks for what we have."

His breath caught. _To give thanks for what we have._ It was there again, the lump in his throat. Jess said it so simply, he'd always thought it was that simple too._  
_  
"Apple is good."

He practically felt her smile over the phone. "Okie-dokey. See ya on Thursday, then - we eat at 7. Be on time and keep in touch . . . as in call - often. All the freakin' time even, sort of like every time you pass a rest stop. And try not to show with any bruises and don't bring any weapons up, not even that knife you always have . . . oh! And there was one more thing I was going to tell you . . . what was it? It was right on the tip of my - oh, right! _Talk to your brother._"

On that note, she hung up.

A smirk pulled at his lips. That sounded more like her. She'd been channeling Sam in that conversation, it had taken him off guard. Probably exactly as she'd planned it. His smirk widened into a bigger smile as he traced the conversation in his head. She'd played him, he'd bet money there was no hot cookie sheet - just her sensing what he'd been about to say and distracting him. He put the phone down on the night stand again, switching it back to vibrate, and stretched out on the bed, turning the TV on.

It had been a strained few weeks. Too many unasked and unanswered questions over the phone line, neither brother giving up anything. It was hard, he'd forgotten what it felt like to not communicate with Sam - it wasn't a feeling he liked. It was a constant lump in his stomach, a weight that tainted everything around him in shadows.

He was good at banishing shadows though, had a lot of practice - and Saturday Night Live reruns helped too.

* * *

She had outdone herself - and he was out here alone with a drink. 

The scotch burned when he took too big a gulp. He stopped just a finger short of the bottom, swirling the liquid in glass.

She wasn't a great cook, she had acceptable skill in the area; sometimes a tad less than acceptable. So it had been decided that the turkey would be provided by her Mom. Jess would do all the baking, save the pumpkin and blueberry pies because Jill had pitched a fit over that,_they had to be Mom's, _she'd demanded, and as always, gotten her way.

Jess had insisted she make the side dishes.

She'd told Sam she was going to make the best damn side dishes they'd ever had for Thanksgiving, because this was _her _Thanksgiving and it was going to be_ fantastic. _

What this consisted of, Sam would later find out, was making enough food to feed the entire campus of Stanford Law.

She'd been cooking since Tuesday, following recipes to the letter, making him taste and compare, adding things in and substituting ingredients. She'd immersed herself in this with the same tenacity she used to ace every final exam.

He was pretty sure he'd gained a few pounds, but Sam liked it; liked going into the kitchen and finding it full of warmth and food, liked finding it messy with Jess at the stove calling him over to taste something. The smile on her face when he told her it was delicious.

He'd blinked and it had been Thursday. Jess had been in high spirits all day. She had everything under control and her parents were due to arrive around two o'clock. Jill, suddenly sans boyfriend, would be getting in earlier to help with set-up.

Doug had stopped by around 10 to help him move the furniture around, promised he'd be back later - on time. They'd moved the sofas and armchairs to the edges of the living room, the coffee table and end tables into Sam's study and set up a dining room table and chairs in the center of the room.

Jess had changed curtains and hung a garland with leaves the colors of fall on it, she'd set up little pumpkins and squashes all over the room, she'd put out candles and bought fresh flowers to the set around the house. The living room had been converted into a pseudo dining room and it looked good.

Her mother had beamed when she'd walked in and Jess had glowed in return.

He threw back the last swallow of scotch, focusing on the burn as it made its way down.

They'd be sitting down to dinner soon, likely as soon as he reappeared.

He just needed a minute though, a minute and drink, to get over it.

Dean hadn't come.

He hadn't really expected him to, hadn't put much faith in Jess's assertion that his brother would be here; hadn't let himself give it much thought at all.

There was a drop of amber liquid lying at the bottom of his glass.

Jess had caught his eye when Jill had arrived, offered him a tiny, sad smile and then remained tactfully silent on the subject.

He turned back towards the apartment building, drawing in a deep breath and slipping back into his role. He played it less these days, but it was still there, an oddly familiar cloak, when he needed it. A bit tight around the edges, but still doable; still simple to be Sam Winchester: All-American-Ivy-Leaguer.

It had snapped into place as soon as Jess's parents looked at him. Jess, and even Jill, had given him odd looks; and that was before Doug and Kerrie had arrived, before Jake had slipped in. He was bound to get a few more double-takes, a couple more arched eyebrows. He hadn't realized how much of himself he'd shown them since Dean had come back into his life - the darkness of his temper, his macabre humor, his ache for approval; not necessarily good things, but true things.

He didn't want them to see true things tonight. True things might just ruin this night for Jess, their first Thanksgiving as a married couple, their first time hosting. It had to be perfect, it was what she wanted, and he would deliver. As long as he played the role, it would be fine.

And after all, it wasn't the first Thanksgiving he'd spent without his family.

* * *

"Dude, I was just coming out to get you!" Jake grinned. "I'm starving here!" 

"You're always starving," Jess teased, setting down one of the bowls of mashed potatoes. There were three different kinds of mashed potatoes.

Sam smirked. "The turkey looks _good." _

"The turkey _is _good," Julia Moore emphasized, warm blue eyes as teasing as her daughters'. "If you had come to our house last year you'd remember."

"We wanted to do our own thing last year, Mom," Jess reminded her mother. She was wearing a silver blouse with a fitted black skirt and high-heeled shoes with more straps than Sam could count at one glance. Her earrings dangled and shimmered in the living room light and he remembered holding her hair to the side while she'd put them on. The long, blonde curls were set loose down her back and Sam had teased her about how the cook should wear a hair net.

"Boxed stuffing is awesome," Kerrie chimed in.

"Oh please tell me you weren't in on last year's debacle?"

Kerrie laughed, "I supplied the mashed potatoes."

"The kind you don't need potatoes to make!" Doug confirmed, leaning in on the sofa and pressing a kiss against Kerrie's jawline.

She made a squeaky noise, pushing him away, eyes darting to Mr. Moore who sat an armchair away. Dexter Moore grinned at them. "Didn't see a thing, dear."

"I saw it!" Jill offered, grinning. "They were kissing, Dad!" She was sitting next to her father; head on his shoulder, her hand intertwined with his, perfect epitome of _Daddy's little girl. _

"Don't tattle, Jill," Mrs. Moore admonished, standing back to admire the table.

"S'not tattling," Jill pouted, eyes gleaming, relishing her status as brat.

Jess turned to her. "Is too!" she taunted, for the heck of it, because Jill had learned bratty from her and sometime she liked to remind her little sister of that.

Mrs. Moore interrupted, "This looks beautiful, honey." The compliment was sincere and laced with pride.

Jess moved closer to her mother, admiring the sight from her mother's view. It wasn't perfect. She'd burned the sausage for the stuffing a little bit and there were bits of bacon in one of the potato dishes that were practically charred. The gravy was a little lumpy and her green beans weren't as crisp as they ought to be; but the presentation was flawless, the biscuits were golden, the yams smelled sweetly and most importantly she'd done it herself, it was _her_ Thanksgiving.

"So we're about ready, then?" Jess offered after a beat; tucking a strand behind her ear, her mother's smile bringing a slight blush to her cheeks. A moment later her gaze met Sam's steadily, leaving the decision entirely up to him.

He pulled up a smile for her, tightening the reigns on his role. "Awesome. Because I'm about starved too," he deflected easily, earning himself a light frown.

She wasn't pushing though, hadn't pushed all day. Once he'd caught her looking from her watch to the telephone, otherwise, she hadn't brought up Dean's absence.

"Let's get this show on the road, then!" Jake agreed, jumping up, and heading for a chair.

"Are you sure, Sam?" Kerrie wondered, standing slowly, her eyes concerned as they settled on his face, unvoiced question echoing in her tone. None of Sam's friends had mentioned Dean by name in the three weeks since they'd witnessed the fight in park. It wasn't because they'd forgotten, weren't wondering, didn't care - no, it wasn't that at all. It was that no one dared.

Veiled questions had been lobbed frequently, but none of them flat-out asked where Dean was. They were all remembering - Sam's family wasn't the Brady Bunch.

"I'm sure," he answered.

The room was silent for a beat, then Jake's chair made a scraping noise when he pulled it out and Jess flipped.

"Would you _watch _it!"

"Sorry!"

"I'll make you wax if -"

"I'm sure it's fine, sweetie, he didn't mean to."

"Yeah! Thanks, Mrs. M!" Jake said gratefully.

The older woman winked at him, "Let's take our seats."

"Yeah. Still starvin'."

Jess scowled at Jake, "Shut-up."

Jill chuckled. "Now, now, sis. You know what the Thanksgiving rule #2 is - say nice things, even if it kills you."

Mr. Moore chuckled too, "Amen."

A smile tugged at Jess's mouth. Sam remembered the story - the sisters at each others' throats one Thanksgiving, no dinner until they could compliment each other three times, Jess's _my head's going to explode if I have to, _and then, _say nice things, even if it kills you._

"Sam, Jess, you two take the heads of the table. It's your Thanksgiving," Mr. Moore pointed out.

Jess started shaking her head, "Dad -"

"Come on Jessy," he prodded.

Jess didn't move, no one did.

Then Jill sighed, dramatically, "I'm sorry. Is this _ceremonial _or something? Should I have brought the video camera?"

Sam's eyes widened, the role slipped, "You're such a brat."

She grinned.

"No, Jill it isn't ceremonial. It is quite special though. Now sit down and be quiet or no desert."

Jill's eyes actually widened in surprise as everyone else snickered. "Mom -"

"Behave like a child, get treated like one," the older woman teased gently.

Sam watched Mr. Moore hold a chair out and his wife slid into it, both their smiles amused. Everyone started sitting down. It was time for dinner. He swallowed hard and pulled out his own chair; sat down and gazed at the table, the people. Jess across from him, holding his gaze with understanding in her eyes; sad, wry amusement glimmering in them. _You were right, _her expression said, _he didn't come._ Sam drew in a slow, shuddering breath, the buzzing of others talk slipping out of focus into the background as his eyes remained on Jess; he shrugged a little, a tiny smile touching his lips, _thank you for trying, _his expression said.

And then the buzzing stopped abruptly, the talking halted. There hadn't been a knock or a scrape to the door or the jiggle in the lock; the door slid open as if it had been open all along.

He turned around. Dean was standing in the doorway, leather jacket gone, collared shirt tucked into dark gray pants secured with a black belt; one hand behind him, the other hooked into a pocket.

He smirked when Sam met his gaze. "Guess I'm running a little late, huh?"

* * *

Yeah, I know, sorta mean, but you'll thank me for it later. Better interrupted here, than there... ; )

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own "Supernatural" or any of it's characters.

**Author's Note:** So I'm a tad late with a Thanksgiving fic, huh? I hope you all had a fantastic Thanksgiving day, certainly that it went better than it shall go here. ;P

The end is on the horizon—but this is not it.

Thank you all so much for the reviews. :D Huge thanks to **Lembas7** who not only beta'd for me, but gets credit for coming up with Sam's little language mix-up at dinner! Thank you, hun!

Any remaining errors are all mine, formatting was a pain for this one. :\ 

I hope you the enjoy the chapter.

* * *

The room had frozen, putting Dean on the spot in a way Sam had really hoped to avoid. 

"Nope, right on schedule, ya know, for you," Jess chirped, breaking the silence.

She was standing next to Dean suddenly and Sam blinked, haze slipping away, pushing his chair out and standing.

Dean smirked. "Traffic was a bi- bum."

The last minute save, brought a genuine smile to Sam's face. "You came."

The words slipped; young, a little awed and inexplicably delighted.

Dean shot him a dark, embarrassed glare. Sam flushed, his own embarrassment catching up with him as the words echoed in his head.

"_Really_ should have brought the video camera, huh?"

"Jill!" Jess snapped.

The younger girl was smirking. "What?"

"Chill," Kerrie hissed, taking over for her friend.

"You guys wanna take a minute?" Jess asked, taking her eyes off her sister, the question asking something else entirely.

Sam nodded, grateful. "Yeah."

"No."

The simultaneous, opposing responses made Jess sigh. And then Dean produced a bouquet of flowers.

"Oh!" She reached out instinctively and wrapped her hands around them. "How pretty! Thank you! You didn't have to – oh, but thank you!"

Dean shrugged, sticking both hands into his pockets now, looking sheepish, but pleased.

"But don't just stand there, come closer," Mrs. Moore prodded, standing and then approaching them. "And let's close this door. We didn't even hear you come in," she said to Dean, giving him a warm smile.

She reached behind him and pushed the door closed.

Sam smirked. "Dude, you're giving my wife flowers?"

"Yes, he is," Jess answered instead. "He's _sweet _ like that."

Dean grinned, smug. Sam rolled his eyes.

"It is very sweet and it's so nice to see you again. I don't think we met properly at the wedding," Mrs. Moore commented softly. "I'm Julia, the mother," she added lightheartedly, extending her hand towards him.

Dean took it quickly, ducking his head a tiny bit. "Dean," he said, offering her a big smile at odds with his oddly tentative demeanor. "Pretty as the daughter," he added while holding her hand.

Sam watched as Mrs. Moore's smile widened and she slipped her arm around Dean's, hooking herself next to him as she drew him towards the table. "And that is my husband, Dex."

Mr. Moore stood and he and Dean shook hands. "Glad you could make it," the older man said.

Dean nodded, his expression shifting into serious. "Sir," he acknowledged.

"You know everyone else here, don't you, sweetie?"

"Yea – yes, Ma'am."

There was a self-consciousness in Dean's tone that bothered Sam. He neared the table and noted that Jake, Doug and Kerrie were all avoiding eye contact with Dean.

Sam frowned; he didn't think that had ever happened.

Both Doug and Kerrie muttered a quick, "Hi."

Jake managed to look up for a brief second, while saying, "Hey!"

It was an odd response and had him remembering the few days after his and Dean's fight; how his friends had behaved almost warily. He'd have thought they were freaked out, but there'd been more to it; an apologetic attitude that Sam couldn't pin point a reason for.

"So. Can we eat now?" Jill asked and for once Sam was glad for her brash attitude, it certainly cut through awkwardness well. He smirked and Jess rolled her eyes as they neared the table.

Mrs. Moore drew in a deep breath and pinned her gaze on Jill.

Jill paused where she'd been spreading her napkin on her lap and shifted her gaze to Dean. "Hi, Dean. How wonderful to see you again."

Sam almost choked on his laugh. Around him everyone grinned, even Dean.

"And it's always, _always,_ a pleasure to see you, _Jilly_." Dean responded, his grin bright, if a little forced.

Jill narrowed her eyes, but with her mother's gaze fastened on her, she didn't scowl.

"You go on and take that seat right there next to Sam, Dean." Mrs. Moore prodded, "Jess, you want me to put those in water for you?"

Jess shook her head, "No, it's okay. I got it. I'm going to set them out on the mantle." She shot Dean another big smile and then went into the kitchen; presumably to find a vase.

They all moved to take their seats. Since Jill had sat next to her Dad, and Mr. and Mrs. Moore were flanking Jess on one end, while Doug and Dean flanked Sam on the other, Jill had ended up sitting across from Kerrie and Jake and was now smack dab next to Dean.

Dean winced suddenly, eyes shooting to Jill.

"Don't call me, Jilly," she snapped, eyes facing away from him.

Dean turned to Sam. "Dude. She _kicked_ me."

Sam nodded. "She does that, yeah."

"Can I -"

"No," Sam grinned. Maybe this wouldn't be a bad at all; maybe Jess had the right idea.

She had come back into the living room, flowers arranged in the vase, and was setting them out on the mantle, moving picture frames aside to make room. Jake proclaimed again how hungry he was, Kerrie reminded him he'd snagged three cookies earlier, and Mrs. Moore scolded him, eyes amused.

Sam felt something ease inside him; he nudged Dean a little, motioning towards the mock wide eyes that Jake was turning to Kerrie.

"I can't help it!" he defended. "I'm growing!"

Kerrie rolled her eyes, "You can't use that excuse anymore."

"Yeah, you're totally done growing," Jess added, smirking. "Medically speaking."

Jess moved back to her seat, her smile wide when her eyes locked with Sam's across the table.

"So Dean, where're you coming from?"

Mr. Moore's genial question might as well have been a bucket of frigid water. Sam tensed, cringing a little, waited for Dean's evasion, and hoped to all hell it wouldn't be caustic.

"Texas, Sir."

The response made him jump a little, and his head swiveled to look at Dean.

Dean had met Mr. Moore's gaze attentively.

"Oh how fun! It's such a diverse place," Mrs. Moore chimed in. "We went once to the space center in Houston, remember, girls?"

"I remember Jilly set off an alarm," Jess offered, grinning.

"It was _Annie!_" Jill hissed in a way that told everyone it was an old argument.

Jess threw her head back and laughed, confirming that it was a _very_ old argument.

"Annie is my sister's daughter," Mrs. Moore explained, eyes still on Dean.

He smiled wide. "Troublemaker?"

"Evil incarnate," Jill corrected.

Dean's smile spread as he tilted his head to look at her blandly. "Funny you should say that."

Jill scowled darkly at him.

"They're over in San Francisco," Mrs. Moore continued, skimming disapproving eyes over Jill. "When the girls were younger we'd take vacations together. Annie is Jill's age."

"Everything go alright out there in Texas?" Mr. Moore asked.

Before Dean could respond, Jess piped up, "I'm going to attack that turkey if we don't get this going."

"Would you like to say grace, Sam?" Mrs. Moore asked kindly.

"Went as well as could be expected," Dean answered smoothly, smile still wide.

"Your line of work is a rather intricate one, I understand."

"My line of work?"

"Sam, you should say grace," Jess stated, eyes suddenly bright and intense from across the table.

"Yeah, Sam. Hungry here," Kerrie prodded, her voice laced with concern.

No one really questioned Dean about his work; it was an unspoken agreement that the brothers had somehow managed to impart. A lesson that Dean drove home with tensed shoulders, narrowed eyes, and short responses.

"Jill's told me a bit about it," Mr. Moore answered. Sam could tell the man was genuinely curious; he just couldn't tell what Dean would do with that curiosity.

"I'm sure she has."

Mrs. Moore laughed suddenly, light and amused. "Sounds like something from a movie, way she describes it."

"S'how Jess describes it," Jill piped in, pink touching her cheeks.

Jess leaned forward a little. "Say grace, Sam."

Sam swallowed, "Right."

But Dean's gaze was moving from Mrs. Moore to Mr. Moore, a carefully constructed facade of congeniality plastered over his features. "Well I _have_ been told I could be a movie star, don't I have a_ dashing _look?" he offered with a grin so charming that Sam wasn't surprised when Mrs. Moore laughed again; or when Mr. Moore's lips twitched upwards too.

Sam released a breath, "Okay so we should -"

"It does sound a bit dangerous, though," Mrs. Moore continued. Then quickly looked over at Sam, realizing she'd interrupted him, "Oh honey, sorry! You go on."

"Hope you're always careful out there, son."

Sam felt Dean's shutters slam down. "I'm not your son."

Breath left him in a rush, his mouth went dry, hands fisted table cloth in a futile effort to calm down.

"Grace, Sam," Jess bit out, hoping to circumvent what they could see coming. She'd sensed the shutters too.

Sam lowered his head, the words, _"_ _Permissum Nos Inflecto Nostrum Caput capitis,__" _slipping out, just as Dean inserted smoothly, "She went with the geek."

It took a moment for the words to register with everyone. Mr. Moore blinked oddly at Dean, aware that something had happened with the younger man, or rather that something had _not _happened, but he wasn't sure what to do with the realization. For a moment, Sam's brother had appeared more intense somehow, even angry, but looking at the boy now he couldn't find a trace of anything but amusement his face.

Dean for his part, had spun his head towards Sam half a second after he'd spoken to Mr. Moore, responding to Sam with an automatic, "_Meus__ caput__ capitis__ est __pandus__."_

The table was silent. And then in true Dean fashion, he chuckled, shaking his head gently.

Sam opened his mouth to ask, '_What?' _when the words he'd said hit him. A breathy, "Oh God," came out instead, followed by a furious scowl at Dean who only smirked in return, muttering a bemused, "_Iustus__ perficio__," _for Sam's ears alone.

"Sam?" Jess's rendition of his name covered a multitude of questions and Sam was pretty sure he'd torn holes into the table cloth with his fingers.

"Could we _please _just get to the _eating _part?" Jake offered, hiding his hesitancy admirably.

Doug nodded. "Cold, food getting cold."

"Yeah and maybe try saying grace in English," Jill pointed out. "It helps."

"What language was that?" Mrs. Moore inquired. Jake barely held back a groan. Sam was fairly certain his friend was about to tear a turkey leg off and start gnawing on it if they didn't _get to the eating part _soon.

"It was Latin," Jess answered for him, eyebrows furrowed.

"Latin?" Doug echoed, then shook his head. "Dude."

Jill arched her eyebrows, "The two of you converse in dead languages a lot?"

"Only when we want to impress you, darling."

Mrs. Moore laughed again and Jess seemed to relax a little, even though the questions didn't fade from her eyes.

"Let's bow our heads," Sam said - in English this time.

Dean looked over at him. "My head is bowed," he returned.

His green eyes were gleaming, a little too brightly; he had his own role firmly in place. The thought prickled Sam's skin. He didn't want them both hiding behind roles. Dean broke their gaze first, actually bowing his head.

The rest of the table followed suit.

On the exceptionally rare occasions when the Winchester men had been at a table eating together, Dad had always encouraged prayers in Latin. Why simply enjoy a meal together when you could practice the language of exorcisms and protection rituals instead?

With that heavy in his mind, Sam began his prayer. "On this special day we ask a blessing for all the bounty before us. We give thanks for all we have; for the warmth of our home and for the food prepared and for people surrounding it. We should take the time to do it daily. We give thanks for the friends that watch out for us and care for us; for the family that supports and encourages us; for the friends and family that are with us, the ones that once were, and the ones we wish were. Daily we should give thanks for the ones we love; for the ones that love us. Today we do take the time to acknowledge our blessings and to give thanks for them."

It should have ended there, with his eyes closed he could feel a few lift their heads.

His mouth kept moving.

"And we remember that it isn't always easy, that sometimes the bonds we value the most are the ones that bind the tightest, the ones that hurt. But we have to remember that we can't give up on them because we... we just can't."

A beat later, he uttered a quiet, "Amen."

Heads lifted, but no one really moved; he might've taken it a step too far.

Mrs. Moore cleared her throat. "What a..." she smiled faintly at Sam, "Lovely blessing, Sam."

Dean's head had remained bowed for a moment longer than necessary, he looked over at Sam now, eyes dark. "Yeah. Lovely." The blank voice told Sam the message had been at least heard if not accepted.

"Oh yeah, gorgeous blessing - pass the stuffing."

Jake's words elicited a giggle from Jill. Doug nodded enthusiastically, "Potatoes over here."

"Which ones?"

"Don't care!"

Jess laughed, beginning the rotation of bowls.

Sam blinked, looking away from Dean's eyes. "Mr. Moore, would you please carve for us?" he said instead.

Now was not the time to get into anything with Dean. For now, they both needed to keep the roles firmly in place.

* * *

The literal Latin translation from Google! ;) 

Permissum Nos Inflecto Nostrum Caput capitis - Let Us Bow Our Heads

Meus Caput capitis Est Pandus – My Head Is Bowed

Iustus Perficio – Just Perfect

* * *

TBC-- momentarily!

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I do not own "Supernatural" or its characters.

**Author's Note**: Well, practically momentarily! ;D One more chapter to come then maybe an epilogue, we'll see how it goes. Thank you again for all the reviews and PM's! It's wonderful to know the story is being enjoyed. :)

Million thanks to **Lembas7** who went over this part on her Birthday! Hope you had an excellent one, sweetie! Any remaining errors are all mine.

Just building some more tension... :P

* * *

"Alright, who's ready for pie?" Jess asked, grinning. 

Everyone groaned, smiles spreading from person to person.

Jess laughed. "I remember a lot of talk about starvation a mere hour and a half ago," she teased.

"I think I'm going to pop."

"I need new pants."

"Why aren't _you _stuffed?" Jill asked, eyeing her almost accusingly.

Jess shrugged. "It's called saving room for desert."

"I think I gained for 12 zillion pounds."

"Would make sense, since you _ate _12 zillion pounds."

"_I_'m ready for pie," Dean said, smiling brightly at Jess as he leaned back in his chair, hand patting his stomach.

Jess stood up, smiling back just as brightly, "Did I tell about how you're my favorite brother-in-law?"

"And I always will be - m'always gonna be loads better than whoever _she _marries."

"Dean!"

Dean looked over at Sam with a carefully neutrally expression on his face, "What?"

Mrs. Moore was laughing, she'd laughed at nearly everything Dean had said. Not that Sam could blame her; Dean had the charm turned on to umpteenth power.

It was beginning to grate on Sam's nerves.

"I'll help you clear," Kerrie offered, "Maybe I can burn off a calorie or two."

"You don't need to burn off _any_." Doug's smile was wide.

Kerrie rolled her eyes as she stood, "Like you'd say anything else."

"I wouldn't turn down a slice of pie," Mr. Moore added, looking up at his daughter with a smile.

One by one, everyone admitted that they could find room for some pie and maybe a little ice cream, and coffee of course. Jess, Kerrie, and Mrs. Moore cleared the table. Sam offered to help, only to be shushed by Mr. Moore - let the _women_do it, he'd joked.

Dean had laughed. _"By that, you mean we'll probably drop something, don't you?"_

_"You know it."  
_  
Jill had said something to outrage Doug. Jake was stating that maybe he could go for _two _slices of pie, since there were so many different kinds.

"Dude? You with us?" Doug reached out and flicked Sam on the temple.

"Ow!" Sam cried, shifting and shoving Doug hard in the arm. "Don't _do _that!"

Doug grinned, "What? This?" He flicked at Sam again.

Sam scowled.

"Boys, behave," Jess teased, coming back out. "Can't do _anything_with them," she added, shaking her head sadly at Kerrie.

"I know! We should leave them home with the babysitter."

Doug arched an eyebrow. "Only if you were the babysitter, babe."

"I _am _home," Sam retorted.

Kerrie stuck out her tongue at him while she set one of the two pies she was carrying down.

"Stop flirting with my girl, Sam."

"I would never let him!" Kerrie shot back, bringing an overly dramatic scandalized hand to her throat, a smile on her face.

Sam paused, waiting for Dean's response - it was an opening for Dean if he'd ever heard one. In fact it felt as if the entire table had paused, waiting for Dean.

There was no response, though.

Sam shifted towards his brother. Dean had the oddest look on his face; dawning comprehension mixed with something too close to devastation for Sam to be okay with it. He reached out instinctively and laid a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Hey, man. You alright?"

Dean flinched under his palm; Sam doubted anyone actually saw it.

The smile his brother bestowed on him was bright and hard. "I'm always alright. Dude." He finished by deftly dislodging Sam's hand from his shoulder.

He said something to Mr. Moore after that, but Sam didn't hear it.

Sam only heard Dean lying to him.

Pies were being set down and smiles were everywhere. Dean was making everyone smile, he was keeping them all in high spirits; he was _lying. _He was pretending.

Sam couldn't breathe.

He was standing when he realized that everyone was looking up at him, that no one was talking.

"I, uh -" He faltered, mind unable to come up with anything; with any reason for him to abruptly stand from the table like that, with any reason for him to look as suffocated, as frustrated, as he knew he must.

"Gonna grab the ice cream scoop? Great. Thanks." Jess slid the words into the hollow silence, eyes not even on him anymore as she started handing out plates.

Sam blinked. "Right, yeah."

"Why don't you set the coffee on too?" she added; and just like that the awkward moment passed.

"Who wants what?" Mrs. Moore asked, setting down her own pie.

"I want blueberry."

"Peach!"

"Pumpkin, yours is the best Mrs. M."

"Thank you, sweetie."

" . . . And Dean, why don't you help him with that," Jess continued as the others spoke around her. She smiled when she looked up from setting serving utensils near each pie, "Dean makes _awesome _coffee."

"Really?" Kerrie asked, meeting Dean's eyes. Then to Sam's amazement, she seemed to blush, averting her gaze quickly as she started slicing and serving.

"Yep, he makes it strong and not bitter - Sam needs to learn. Oh, you'll love it especially, Dad," Jess answered, straightening and sending her father a quick smile. Then she looked over at Dean, who was still seated, expression blank, holding himself perfectly still. "You don't mind, do you Dean?"

Dean swallowed hard, working to keep his temper in check. Sometimes Jess pushed a little too hard. "No," he bit out.

She frowned; around him the others slowed down their chatter, Mrs. Moore's gaze widened a little - and he realized he'd forgotten to add two words to his response. "I don't," he said a moment later, forcing pleasantry into his voice; the way he'd been doing all night.

The silence stretched for a moment, then chatter resumed slowly. Mrs. Moore handed Jake a slice of pumpkin, Doug asked for his peach again, Kerrie told him to be patient.

"Would you get the ice cream scoop already, Sam?" Jill prodded.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, right; that's why I got up . . . to get it. Yeah."

Dean rolled his eyes a little as he stood; Sam had gotten really sucky at lying.

The absence of sound in the kitchen felt odd. Dean went straight to the coffee grinds, ignoring Sam's heavy stare as he opened the pantry. He ignored Sam completely as his brother rummaged in the utensil drawer for the scoop, ignored the swishing of the kitchen door as Sam left to take it to the living room, ignored it again when it signaled Sam's return.

He ignored Sam until he turned to get the coffee filter and found Sam holding them.

He drew in a slow, deep breath, then arched an eyebrow, "Are you watching? Jess wants you to learn so you can stop making craptastic coffee."

"I don't," Sam answered. "I make coffee exactly like you do."

"Great. So why are we in here?"

"You know why."

"I do?"

"Jess wants us to talk."

Dean snatched the coffee filters from Sam's hands and turned back to the pot. He carefully pulled one out of the box.

"Any leads on Dad?" Sam asked a few minutes later, as Dean poured cold water into the maker and pressed power.

Dean shook his head, still facing away from his little brother. He moved to another cabinet and started pulling out mugs. "I would've told you."

"Would you?"

Dean turned to face Sam, a mug still in each hand. "Yes," he ground out, fists clenching around the mug handles tightly.

Sam met his gaze steadily. "You haven't exactly told me much lately, Dean."

"I'm sorry. I must have missed the part where you _cared _about what the hell is going on with Dad."

Sam scowled, "I care about what the hell is going on with _you!_"

"_**Goddamit**__**, Sam!**__"_

A cracking sound melded with Dean's voice to reverberate around the kitchen and for a moment, Dean thought the snapping of his temper had actually been audible. Then he realized he'd dropped - or probably slammed - the coffee mugs onto the floor.

The kitchen door opened, voices ringing into the room.

"What happened?!"

"What's going on?!"

"Everything okay in there?"

"Need help?"

Jess stood in the doorway, eyes surveying the scene.

"Everything's fine," she offered, sticking her head back out into the living room for a moment. "Minor accident, we're fine though; they're being _boys_."

"Just like improperly trained apes, seriously . . ." Jill's voice faded as Jess shut the door.

"What happened?" she asked after a beat.

Simultaneously they both growled, "Nothing."

Jess jumped, startled by the ferocity of the word; the way they'd turned to her together and spat it, the identical flashes of fury she'd seen in their eyes-- this could turn ugly, fast. "Convincing." She murmured.

The joke fell flat. Behind them the coffee began to brew.

Dean bent to pick up the pieces, Sam followed suit.

"I got it." Dean growled, grabbing pieces with one hand and with the other shoving at Sam's extended ones.

"Let me help," Sam insisted.

Dean looked up sharply; the crack lending itself to fissures in his control. "That's what it's all about with ya'll isn't it?" He couldn't stop the bitterness from creeping in, "_Helping _me. What am I, Sam? The pet project of the month? Something you can all focus on and fix like that park Mike sponsored, huh? Is that it?"

Sam frowned. "What? Proje-- fi– what the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh please, Sam. Don't pretend like you aren't pissed I scared the crap out of your friends, or like you haven't noticed that they're treating me like a feral cat."

Sam blinked, hands stopping, eyes watching Dean's lowered face as the older man focused on collecting the broken ceramic. "What?" Sam whispered, but a vague picture was beginning to form in his mind, creating a pit of lead in his stomach.

Jess walked over to them, heels clicking on the floor; she knelt down to their level. "No one told him," she said, looking at Dean. Then she added quietly, "Today is really not the day for this part of the talk. Today is perfect for the part of the talk where you remember how much you adore each other."

She stood up then and the clicking of her heels and the swishing of the door told them she was gone.

"No one told me _what_?"Sam asked a moment later.

Dean finished collecting the pieces and stood, went over to the trashcan and dumped them. The coffee stopped brewing.

"Dean?"

"Grab the half and half and the sugar, Sam."

Sam stared at Dean's back for a moment, then stood and moved to do as he was told. He set them on the kitchen table. He watched as Dean took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and then without looking at Sam headed for the living room.

"Who wants coffee and more importantly _how?_"

Sam heard Dean ask before the door shut behind him. Sam stood there for a moment, wondering if maybe he should pursue this-- laughter from the living room told him not to, told him there would be other days. Dean was doing a damn admirable job with his role today and Sam would do well to follow in his big brothers footsteps.

* * *

TBC-- soon. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:**I do not own "Supernatural" or these complexly broken boys.

**Author's Note: **Last chapter guys!  I appreciate all your reviews and PM's so much! Thank you for all your comments and suggestions! And all the great insights you've shared with me!

Loads of thanks to **Lembas7 **for practicing her beta'fu on this story, you're awesome hun!  Any remaining errors are all mine.

* * *

"Okay, okay, it's time now!" Jill said, breathless from a laugh, eyes bright from a sugar high. 

Jess nodded and Kerrie groaned. Mrs. Moore laughed and her husband rolled his eyes.

"Time for Thanksgiving rule #1!" Jill finished.

Sam joined Mr. Moore in the eye rolling.

"Dean has no idea what you're babbling about, Jilly," Mrs. Moore pointed out.

Dean smirked, "And I'm always fascinated by what you have to say, Jilly."

Jill was sugared up enough and it was late enough that she just grinned at Dean. "Thanksgiving Rule #1: you must say two things you're thankful for - but there are rules--"

Dean's eyebrows arched. "Rules to the rule?"

Jill rolled her eyes. "Shut-up," she said lightly. Then, she began listing, "You must not be obvious, you must not repeat anything that's already been said, you must be brief and you must be sincere!"

"Obvious is family, friends and health - that's all a given, so they're not allowed," Jess continued the explanation. "And it has to be current, this year!" she added.

"And you can't qualify it; you can't say I'm thankful for my new car this year except that it's a pain to find windshield wipers for," Jill finished.

Dean watched one sister and then the other, amused. "That doesn't leave a lot."

"Sure it does. It leaves the simple things that you're thankful for this year - things that made you happy in uncomplicated ways."

His lips quirked a little at Jess's explanation. "Okay, and you don't say why -"

"Exactly! No qualification!" Jess finished for him, then her eyes widened. "EXCEPT if you really want to! But only if it's good - not if it's bad -"

"See my previous example," Jill interrupted.

Jess didn't miss a beat, "No negativity allowed. It's all about the thankful and the silly and the happy!"

"Julia came up with this when the girls were young," Mr. Moore murmured, wry amusement in his tone.

Mrs. Moore nodded. "They loved it. They were such sweet girls," she added teasingly, looking at them with mock sadness.

"We're still sweet girls, Mom!"

"Yeah!"

Their mother sighed, a laugh in her eyes. "I suppose you have your moments."

"Why two?" Dean asked.

"Two daughters," Mr. Moore answered quickly, shooting Dean a grin. "Two's the magic number."

"Okay, I want to go first!" Jill cried, grinning. "Me first!"

"So would you like to go first, dear?" Mr. Moore asked Jill, eyes amused.

Jill nodded, "Okay. I'm thankful that I broke up with Kris before Thanksgiving."

"Amen," Jess piped up.

Kerrie nodded, "Seconded."

Jill took a moment to frown. "You never even met him."

"Hearsay." Kerrie nodded towards Jess.

"What else are you thankful for?" Sam asked, cutting off Jill's response.

"Yeah, could we not get into _another_ guy-discussion please," Jake begged. "I still have nightmares from the last one I was present for." He gave a fake shudder.

"Do I even want to know?" Mrs. Moore asked archly.

Mr. Moore looked over at her and reached out to pat her hand. "Of course not, dear. You know _dating _means_good friends _and by _Kris _Jilly means Katie."

The Moore women rolled their eyes and Jill continued, "And I'm thankful that Jess and Sam are finally married, because it's nice to have living, breathing proof that there are some people out there made for each other."

The entire table paused and shifted to look at Jill, surprised looks on their faces. Her cheeks tinged pink, but she proceeded without missing beat, turning to face her father. "Okay, Daddy, your turn." Her father was watching her with a fond smile on his face as she prodded him.

He reached out and patted her gently on the back. "I'm thankful Sam and Jess opened up their home to us this Thanksgiving. I'm thankful for the ace I made at the SCGA last week."

"Dexter!"

"What?"

"No more golf at the table," she huffed.

"Jess?" Kerrie offered. "What are_you _thankful for?" she asked, grinning.

Jess rolled her eyes. Then sighed, meeting Sam's gaze across the table, "I'm thankful for my wedding day." Then her eyes slid over to Dean and then back to Sam. "I'm thankful for all things Sam."

Sam felt a flush start up his neck when Doug and Jake groaned emphatically.

"Oh, jeez!"

"How long does the honeymoon phase _last_?"

Mrs. Moore _tsk_ed. "Shush you two!" Then, looking at her daughter, "That was a beautiful sentiment, honey."

Jess nodded, then stuck her tongue out Jake and Doug. "It's _Thanksgiving, _I'm allowed!"

"Mom, you go."

And that was when Sam began to panic. When he realized that he was three people away from having to say what he was thankful for this year. He knew what he was thankful for. It was a no-brainer. He also knew that it would be a somewhat bad idea to say it out loud. Dean would react badly to the truth. He wouldn't want Sam to say it, to tell him and everyone at the table that Sam was thankful for _him, _thankful that Dean had come today, that Dean had been willing to open the door, to find middle ground.

Saying those words didn't fit with the roles they were both donning today. The words acknowledged an issue that Dean had locked away, one his brother didn't discuss under the best of circumstances, and one that he wouldn't address tonight. Tonight Dean was under lockdown, walls up almost as high as they went. Tonight, Dean was delivering exactly what Sam had wanted. Normal.

Dean had been just as charming and polite during desert as he'd been during dinner. There were no cracks in the performance, no wavers. Dean had answered questions and teased and been attentive all night long - the perfect in-law, the perfect guest, the perfect friend.

Except that now that Sam was paying attention, he noted that conversion never actually flowed directly from Dean to Kerrie, Jake, or Doug. It flowed from one, through one of the other five people at the table, and then back again; but they weren't actually talking to each other. Doug was sitting directly across from Dean and Sam now doubted if the two had made eye contact all night. He realized that Kerrie hadn't directly flirted with Dean at all, that she'd barely sent a glance his way, and when she did, it was tentative, careful.

Dean was right; they were treating him like a feral cat.

And Sam had no idea why. He'd been trying to go over the last time they'd all done something together, without seeming distracted to the others, and he just couldn't find a connection. It had been over a month since Dean had even hung out here, maybe even two. There was wedding, of course, but other than that he couldn't recall a single time that Dean had had a chance to even see everyone - they'd barely even looked at each at the park -

His thoughts stuttered then stopped as abruptly things came together with startling clarity.

Dean had left abruptly, hadn't said goodbye; hadn't even _tried_. No one had questions about the park, at all. He had a little over two hours of lost time with them from when they'd left the park to the time he and Jess had met them at the Bed and Breakfast.

Jess's _we didn't tell him _in the kitchen . . .

Sam's jaw clenched. Dean, wondering if he was the pet project of the month. Dean wearing his role so well, so tightly that Sam couldn't see through it, could only see it crack.

"Sam? Dude! Your turn!" Doug shoved him in the arm, the other man's voice full of laughter.

It was his turn.

The eyes he fastened on Doug made the man lean back, smile dimming.

"Yeah, man, what are you thankful for?" Jake pressed, a knowing tone in his voice, having missed the look Doug just witnessed.

Sam didn't have to look to know that everyone was pretty much snickering; counting on the fact that they knew what he was thankful for. They were right.

He straightened in his chair, his gaze encompassing everyone and then shifting to Dean. Dean was waiting for the look. His brother met Sam's gaze with a frozen smile and a warning in his eyes.

Sam looked back at the table. It was his turn.

"Sam, come on!" Jill encouraged, more through exasperation than any enthusiasm. "What are you thankful for?"

He took a moment to reign it all in, the sudden anger and building frustration that were mixing together in a way he knew would end badly. He kept his gaze down as he drew in a deep breath; and when he looked up he delivered a smile chock full of the charm Dean had been showering them with all evening. "Oh, I think it's fairly obvious what I'm thankful for," he offered.

Smiles became wider. Across from him Jess's lips quirked in a cute little smirk -and next to him he felt Dean unclench.

"I'm thankful that we got here," he continued. "I'm thankful that she said yes."

He saw Mrs. Moore squeeze her husband's hand, and the fond look he gave her in return. The older man turned those same affection-filled eyes to Sam and Sam felt a sliver of sense touch the roiling mix of toxins inside him. Jess had told him tonight was not the night; Dean was playing the role perfectly, eyes warning him away.

But Jess was hiding something and Dean was nothing but a mirror tonight; nothing but the reflection of what a good friend and in-law should be. Sam suddenly _needed _to smash through that mirror.

"I'm thankful that I have friends who care about me."

Kerrie giggled and Jill rolled her eyes. "Only _two, _dude. Your turn's over."

"Dean, you go now, sweetie," Mrs. Moore offered.

Sam continued, his voice dropping a level. "I'm thankful that my friends care about me _so _much that not only do they go to extreme, possibly invasive measures to try and help me, they then _omit _this news from any conversation, in what I can only assume is a misguided effort to spare me any upset."

There were no comments during this pause.

"However, I don't think _you, _Dean, are as thankful that I have such concerned friends, since their concern and prerequisite friendship then extends to you - and you certainly would hate being treated like the pet project of the month, right?"

"Sam!" Jess's startled cry didn't even faze him.

Dean's face tightened almost imperceptibly, but his smile didn't falter and he didn't say a word.

"I mean why would you take any concern shown to you as a genuine gesture of affection when it can't obviously be anything but an insult to your ability to _handle_shit, right? Why would you take a moment to slow down and _talk to your brother?_ Talk to him and tell him what the hell is going on in that freaky head of yours that you would take off and practically shut down communication rather than let him the hell in."

Jess slammed a palm on the table. "Sam. Stop it!"

"You don't want to know what's going on in my head," Dean warned, voice pitched as low as Sam's.

The silence at the table, in the room, told Sam that their hushed voices had been heard by all.

"Of _course_ I don't," Sam drawled, ignoring his better judgment, barreling forward even as brain cells screamed at him to shut-up. "Why would I want to understand you at all? Right. Why would I give a crap?!"

"SAM!" Jess's angry voice started off a chain reaction.

Mr. Moore pushed his chair back, ready to stand, "Sam, kiddo, you gotta calm down -"

Mrs. Moore interrupted, "I'm sure whatever the problem is -"

"Have some water," Jill cut in.

Jake nodded. "Just chill out, you two always -"

"We don't want things to escalate," Kerrie added before Jake could finish. "I'm sure Dean -"

At the sound of their voices Sam felt the last grip he had on reason slip. He fastened dark, angry eyes on Kerrie. "I'm sure you know _nothing_," he spat, eyes burning with intensity as they slipped from her to his other friends. "But I'll get to y'all later."

Dean stood suddenly, the sound of his chair scraping the floor and jolting everyone. "Enough," he growled and reached for Sam, grabbing his little brother's forearm with one hand and the neck of his collar with the other, then Dean hauled him up and out of the chair. "Outside."

Sam's chair tilted and crashed to the floor from the abrupt movement. Dean shoved Sam towards the front door, as gasps went up behind them.

Sam shifted, using his height to break Dean's hold on him and whirling around to face him, ignoring the shocked faces at the table behind Dean.

"EXCEPT that maybe I'm **THANKFUL **for you! Maybe despite any RATIONALITY that I might have, I want you in my life, I'm THANKFUL that you're in my life; that maybe I want you talk to me and show up and be here because I actually CARE about you, that maybe I -"

"Maybe you need to shut the fuck up," Dean snarled.

Sam came up short, words dying on his tongue; Dean's tone snapping him out of his angry haze and into their reality.

The apartment was deathly silent and Sam felt nauseous suddenly, the Thanksgiving dinner feeling like it was drowning him from the inside out.

"Well." Mrs. Moore released the word on a breath several moments, a statement all its own.

Even Jill couldn't diffuse the sudden tension surrounding them. It was too thick, too explosive. It was Dean that was an expert at this, at diffusing a situation about to teeter off into irredeemable.

Sam and their Dad had taught him how.

"Quite a show, huh?" Dean offered the silent room, voice deprecating and apologetic. "Nothing like a little spat to make Thanksgiving memorable."

There wasn't anything in Dean's words to account for why Sam felt his teeth clench automatically, for the way he had to fist his hands, for the desire to do something truly memorable - like maybe slamming his brother against a wall and demanding that he take the goddamned role _off; _demanding that he stop being so charming and happy and _fake. _

"I'm not having a _spat,_" he argued, "I'm -"

Dean met his gaze, cutting off his words. "Aren't you?"

He scowled, "NO. I'm not. I'm trying to -"

Jess stood. "Sam, maybe you should -"

"STAY out of it!" The words were out before he could stop them, roared in a way that couldn't be misinterpreted. They didn't mean just right now, this argument, they meant always, forever - _stay out of it. _

Jess blinked shocked, hurt.

"Sam."

Dean's tone sliced through him; when he'd been eight and ten and fourteen that voice had sent shivers down his spine, made the hairs on his neck stand up, made his palms start sweating.

Jess's wide eyes were in sharp focus suddenly - so was Mrs. Moore's pale face and the hard set to Mr. Moore's jaw; so were Kerrie and Jake studying the table with startling intensity and Doug's eyes focused on spot on the far wall and Jill's eyes blazing with anger.

A shaky breath escaped him suddenly, a hand rose up to pass through his hair before he forced out words that he knew couldn't fix this. "I didn't - Jess, I didn't - "

She nodded, offered him half a smile that didn't come close to reaching her eyes, and whispered, "Yeah. I know."

He doubted anyone else would be as quick to forgive.

"Out. Side." Dean's voice was low, commanding and disapproving, Sam's head ducked almost of its own accord.

He headed for the door without looking at anyone else, left it open knowing that Dean would follow him. There was nothing else he could do.

* * *

Sam's departure did exactly what Dean had known it would, plunged the room into deeper silence. He cleared his throat a little. "So, extra memorable, this one, huh?" 

Mrs. Moore stood up. "What in Heaven's name just happened?"

"Mom -"

"No, Jess, Mom is right, what the hell was that?!"

"Language, Jill." Mr. Moore's voice was calm, but Dean heard the steel it was lined with; the eyes that met Dean's were frosted over, no sign of geniality shown earlier. "An explanation would be nice."

Jess answered for him, voice straining to be calm. "It was nothing."

"It was something," her mother corrected, eyeing Dean reproachfully.

He pulled his gaze from the older man, bristling a little at her Mrs. Moore's voice. Her tone rubbed him the wrong way. "Yeah, it was," he admitted, restraining the desire to restate Sam's _stay out of it_ command; one of them had to be the rational one tonight.

He didn't like the curt tilt to her voice though - too parental, too involved, too knowing when she didn't know anything.

He'd rather deal with the Dad's anger than the Mom's concerned disapproval.

She didn't _get _to disapprove of Sam.

Still, he'd sent Sammy out of the room so he could fix this; the kid had never been good at keeping emotions under wraps. Dean needed to smooth things over for him, it's what he did, and his Dad had taught him well - when things were this far to hell there was only one way to fix it.

The truth.

First to Jess, "He didn't mean to--"

She nodded, but there was still surprise and maybe a little hurt on face, "I know," she interrupted before he could finish, "I understand."

"I don't know and I don't understand." Her father stated, eyes fastened on Dean, "There's a reason I should understand that display towards my daughter?"

Jess placed a hand on her father's arm, "Dad, don't--"

He looked over at her, "Why not?"

Dean drew in a slow breath and spoke, "It's a long story, but I can guarantee you that Sam didn't mean to— he just slipped. I have to go talk to him. We need to, uh, talk about– this time of year, it's -" another breath, because the truth, in theory was easier than practice. "Holiday's… they're hard," he told Mr. Moore, gaze moving to his wife after a moment. Then he motioned towards the door. "We just need a minute."

"You know, it's getting late; we should probably be goi-"

Dean shook his head at Doug's words, shifting to look at him. "It's not about you," he interrupted before the other man could move to stand. "Don't go."

"He's mad at us," Kerrie corrected, obviously a little shaken.

"He's mad at _me_," he corrected softly, then offered her a smile because she looked like maybe she hadn't been treating him like a feral cat on account of him, maybe it had been on account of herself. "We'll be back. I just gotta talk to him. And no bloodshed this time, promise."

She released a breathy laugh, Jake and Doug exchanged looks, relaxing back into their chairs. Jess rolled her eyes a little, her lips quirking a bit. Jill - well, she glared at him, but he hadn't really expected anything less.

Dean turned around, headed for the door. The Moore's hadn't smiled though. They needed a little more sincerity, a little less humor – they needed the kind of truth he didn't usually give out.

But this was for Sam.

He stopped at the doorway and turned around, gaze skimming Mr. Moore's still frosty eyes and coming to rest on Mrs. Moore's concerned blue ones. "For the record," he murmured, "I'm thankful that Sam has all of you." He swallowed hard past a sudden lump in his throat, shrugging his shoulders a little, "Everything else is obvious."

He didn't stick around to see the reaction to that one, he had nothing else to offer if it didn't melt the ice he'd seen forming.

What he did have was a little brother to sort out.

* * *

Sam was sitting on the curb when Dean stepped onto the street. Elbows on his knees, hunched forward – he'd sit like that when Dad would take a teenaged Dean on a hunt and leave Sam with Pastor Jim; dejected. 

Dean sat down next to him and released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. It was dark out here, street lamps spread out in this area, the stars visible overhead and a November coolness filling the air.

There was quiet out here, no one talking or laughing, the street was still, the breeze rustling leaves overhead. He felt himself unwind a little.

Sam's head was ducked down, facing the ground. Dean waited, studying the empty street.

"They mad in there?"

Sam's voice was quiet, hoarse; a mean word or two away from tears.

"More like confused."

"I keep yelling at Jess." The confession sounded like maybe there had been tears already and Dean tried to duck his head and get a view of Sam's face. It was too dark though, so he went back staring at the empty street.

"I'm sure she'd yell back if she wanted to."

"I told her Mom was killed when we were kids." The sentence was rushed, childlike in its rawness and Dean couldn't stop the arch of his eyebrows. It surprised him. He and Sam had already had the truth argument. Sam didn't plan to share, ever. So this development was surprising, so surprising that anything he said could very well start the entire argument over again.

He went with humor, they could use some humor. "One small step for mankind, one gigantic leap for Sasquatch."

It got him a small chuckle from Sam, a little release of tension between them. They sat in silence for a few more minutes.

Then he took a deep breath and opened with, "So, we're even then?"

The question got Sam to lift his head a little and shoot Dean a look. No tears, Dean noted, but eyes that were too sad for his liking.

"I give you a bloody nose you make me talk golf for nothing – even, right?"

Sam didn't say anything; instead he shifted his gaze to the street. They were both studying the empty street now.

"So let's talk," Dean offered, because Sam needed him to talk and it always came down to that, didn't it? "What happened up there?" he asked, when Sam didn't jump in to fill the silence.

His question was met with silence and Dean felt a fissure of anger run across his control. He hadn't wanted to come to this in the first place, had known it was a bad idea from the start. If you didn't want two worlds to mix, the best and most obvious solution was to_stop mixing them_.

Mixing them while trying to keep them separate was exhausting and futile - impossible and for a guy who'd run from his past because he'd claimed it had been those very things, Sam was too eager to create an impossible situation of his very own.

"I don't know."

Dean released a slow breath and focused on Sam's words. "You do. You want to talk, so talk," he prodded.

Sam was silent for a long moment, then spoke just as Dean was about to. "Just because I'm mad at Dad doesn't mean I'm mad at you."

The words made Dean grit his teeth and clenched his fists instinctively. He forced himself to stay calm though, because Sam was emotional enough for the both of them. "You have no reason -"

"YES. I do," Sam interrupted, head lifting and hands coming out in front of him. "He's just disappeared! He left you to hunt alone! That's completely -"

"NO. You don't get to do that!" Dean yelled, scowling at his younger brother. "You don't get to be mad at him _because_ of me! That's not how it's gonna work!"

Sam scowled back. "Why the hell not!?"

"Because that's something YOU need to stay out of!"

Sam looked sucker punched, but Dean felt just as winded; eyes wide, both equally surprised Dean had gone there.

It was Sam who looked away, ducking his head.

They _never _talked about the four years. They only accepted that they existed.

Dean wasn't sure how long it took for him to catch his breath, for his heart to stop pounding against his ribcage, for control to reassert itself. When it did, he leaned to the side a little and nudged Sam's shoulder with his own. "And dude, I've been hunting on my own since I was twenty-one."

He'd made sure to keep the tone amused, the words light; Sam's lack of reaction told him it hadn't mattered.

He released a long breath, not caring that it ending on a frustrated growl. "What is it you_want_ from me, Sam? Huh? I come out here - I'm wearing _slacks_for christsake; I let that man talk to me about _golf!_ I complimented and agreed and lightly teased and charmed till I could barely see straight anymore and then you go and mess the whole thing up!"

He was switching the issue, changing the game because they didn't know how to play the four years game. The only thing they knew about that game was that neither one could win it.

Sam's head lifted, eyes telling Dean he noticed the switch even as he dove right into the subject Dean opened up. "I just want you to be YOU." Sam practically pleaded.

Dean almost snorted. "No, Sam, you _don't. _**I **would have told Jess's Dad the only use a golf club _has _is to smash the worthless piece of imported crap he drove here tonight into smithereens."

A surprised laugh escaped from Sam as the image formed in his mind. "Yeah, you would've," he admitted, throwing his head back, eyes fixed on the stars.

"Damn straight I would've, and how well do you think that would have gone over?"

Sam answered with his head still tilted back. "About as well as me cursing, tipping over chairs and yelling at Jess."

"Yahtzee!"

Sam straightened and looked over at him with arched eyebrows, eyes getting brighter, a smile tilting his lips. "You're supposed to be making me feel better!"

Dean arched his own eyebrows. "Says who?"

"The Little Brother Guide To Screwing It Up, page 4 - Big Brother Always Fixes It."

Dean smirked. "Oh I can fix it, just gotta rub your nose it if first. You don't want me to be _me _with them, Sam. Hell, you're barely_you."_

Sam frowned, "That's not--"

"Dude. If I had the charm on, you had the sincere on like it was nobody's business."

"Dean -"

"They're the _parents,_Sam!" Dean cried._ "_Everybody's gonna be a little different – better behaved and all. Jill was practically _nice _to me!" He laughed suddenly. "And ya know, for once _I'll _be the good brother!"

Sam shook his head. "I can't believe I did that."

Dean chuckled. "Neither can I."

"Dude! Nose. Rubbed! Fix now!"

Dean laughed. "Relax. Just turn the super-dooper-emo-puppy-eyes on and you'll be fine."

"The _what?" _

Dean rolled his eyes, "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about."

Sam stared at him in a surprise for another beat before a smile cracked over his face, the first full, _real _one Dean had seen tonight. He felt himself smile back, big and just as real.

"You know -"

"Here it comes," he muttered before Sam could say another word.

Sam for his part paused only briefly before continuing, "What I said in there - even though I was little -"

"Off your rocker?"

"Upset," Sam continued. "I meant it. I _am _thankful that you're -"

"Yeah. Okay."

"Dean."

"Yeah, _okay."_

Sam's smile turned a little tender at the exasperation in Dean's tone.

"I told them we'd be back up."

The affectionate smile widened. "Makes sense, we live there."

He let Sam stand and brush off his pants and offer him a hand up before he looked up and spoke. It had to be said, pointed out. Sam needed to understand it.

"You," Dean said it gently. He didn't want this to hurt. "You live there."

Sam's hand faltered and Dean saw emotions flicker across his little brother's face, before one settled down on across his features – defiance.

The hand was held out again.

Dean stared at it for a beat, then took Sam's hand up. He stared into his brother's steady eyes and marveled at how much the kid could look like their Dad when he wasn't trying.

"You live there tonight." Sam's words were as steady as his gaze.

Dean swallowed hard and nodded a little, dropping that gaze. "No argument here," he offered lightly.

Then turned around and headed for the building.

He knew that look on Sam's face, knew it in all its incarnations. Sam wasn't accepting what he didn't want to, simply _because _he didn't want to. He'd rather they both play roles, play this game, than face what was looming before them.

Sam had to feel it too; Dean knew that. Knew his brother had noticed the way the arguments came faster these days; the way things - lies, hunts, Dad - were getting more difficult to smooth over.

Sam talked about ties and bonds as if he couldn't feel them unfurling at all.

"Dean -"

Sam's call stopped him and he turned around, met Sam's gaze steadily; eyes unable to hide what he'd just been thinking. Things were getting murkier these days, it was getting harder to agree to disagree, harder to let things go—to pretend.

Sam looked terrified for a moment, seeing that truth in Dean's eyes, but an instant later defiance chased it away.

A genuine if forced smile took up residence on Sam's lips. "You never said what you were thankful for!" he complained, catching up to Dean at the building door.

Denial.

As much a part of the Winchester genetics as stubbornness.

Dean smiled, maybe it was a bit sad, but it was just as genuine as Sam's.

"It's completely obvious isn't it?" he asked, as he opened the door for Sam to walk through.

"Nothing is ever obvious with you."

Dean grinned at him, "My baby of course."

Sam paused, so Dean could see him roll his eyes, before sliding past him into the building. "Figures it'd be the Impala," he muttered, a smile spreading on his face.

Dean paused to make sure the door closed properly behind them.

"Never said it was the Impala, Sammy," he whispered, watching as his brother took the steps two at a time.

It wasn't his fault if Sam didn't hear it.

* * *

_-Fin _

* * *

**Author's Notes #2**: 'tis the end. Epilogue will be forthcoming.Thank you all so much for your encouraging words. :D 

P.S. The Impala was covered under everything else is obvious, she's family. ;)

* * *


End file.
